


Rogue

by jenaicompris



Series: The Long Road [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 55,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenaicompris/pseuds/jenaicompris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I was born to be a nobody. Female oldest of three, certainly no beauty. I grew up to be a Champion, a Viscount, and some believe the starter of a rebellion; it doesn't matter, I will die nothing more than a rogue." Cross posted from fanfiction.net/~marvy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flagstone

It had been years since I had last laid eyes on my blond mage. Once the Knight-Commander had been defeated, no matter how wrong she had been, someone had to pay. I wasn't about to let any of my companions take the fall; I thought that the status as Champion and Viscount would soften the blow for me. Perhaps it did; I did not die. Not physically, anyhow.

It had been seven years since I had seen the sun, since I had tasted fresh air. I could barely breathe for all of it, what seemed to be the newness. Like rebirth, though I doubted one's bones ache so much as a newborn.

"...You must know I am sorry," Knight-Commander Cullen, who had been promoted immediately followed Meredith's quite timely demise, frowned as he stood in front of me in the Gallow's courtyard. "I could not..."

I remembered, years ago, him apologizing for taking Bethany from me. The words were almost exactly the same. But they meant more now, despite what had transpired.

"Do not worry," I smiled wanly, "I have had long enough to come to terms with my desire to kill or otherwise injure you. You are safe from my wrath." He looked quite taken aback, though somewhat relieved. And then he let out a quiet chuckle because we both knew the truth. We stood for a moment in silence, just looked at each other. It had been quite a long time since I had seen his face, despite his best efforts to visit me without being suspicious. So much had passed between us over the last seventeen years that it was nearly impossible for me to think of what to say in that moment.

"Tell me...is there news of any of my companions?"

There was, but not much. None were dead, at least not that Cullen could tell; Varric was here or there, Fenris similarly so. Aveline and Donig had returned to our once-home, after about five years of trying to return Kirkwall to some semblance of normalcy by helping to rebuild when the dust had settled. Isabela had disappeared, as we expected, though Merrill had followed her, which we had not. Sebastian, still seething over the loss of the Grand Claric, was nursing his wounds in Starkhaven though there was word that he had a bounty out for Anders. Ahh, Anders. No one had seen or heard from him since I had turned myself in.

Cullen began speaking again, but I was lost in thought at my surroundings. Kirkwall had been built up again and, though it didn't seem much different here in the Gallows, I suspected it was a slight sight better than the last time I had stood on that flagstone walkway. How much better, I did not know. Blood was not running down the steps, though, and that was an improvement.

"...and, though you can't tell a soul, I've got your things," he finished, handing me back every earthly possession he had taken from me that day seven years ago, minus the money I had possessed and the house that had long-since been sold. He had hidden them in the alcove we had once frequented. My heart stopped in my chest as we came upon it. I turned to look at him as he bent to retrieve the trunk he had hidden away. He stood before me, silver threaded through his beautiful curls. Despite myself, I smiled. I remembered the feel of those curls in my fingers and I imagined it was quite the same that day as it had been even as we played at kissing in the halls of the Gallows.

He nodded a little, as if committing to the fact that he was remembering the same things I was. Neither of us spoke as we moved away, though he stopped not far off. Setting the trunk down again, he brought himself closer. He did not touch me, though he reached out as if he would.

"Marion," he murmured, a far-away look in his eyes. He was playing our time together over on loop in his head; I knew this only because it was the same thing I was, and I could see the same thing in his eyes that I was feeling so intensely.

I shook my head a little and moved away, picking up one end of the trunk. I couldn't do it, and I couldn't let him. It would be too easy, for a short time. He hurried over to grab the other, our moment lost.

As we made our way to the dock outside the Gallows, he spoke. Softly, as Cullen had often done. I wasn't paying much attention to the words that left his mouth, though. I couldn't – I couldn't let myself get swept up in the emotion, despite how desperately I wished to. Instead, I was struck suddenly with the memory of our arrival. My brother, recently dead. My mother, still reeling. My sister, terrified of the Templars, like the man I was walking with then, that she knew overran the city we were about to enter. And Aveline. Strong, stalwart Aveline standing at my side as she did for the next ten years.

Twenty. I had been twenty then; I fancied myself mature, as I strove to take care of my family. And failed. The more time I spent in Kirkwall, the more I realized I knew nothing of anything. At three years shy of forty, I still felt very much like I knew little.

Cullen bent to open the trunk of my things beside a small boat that he had procured for me with the remnants of my money. The majority of my fortune had been willingly confiscated (what need did I have of it, rotting in a cell?) for the rebuilding of the city I had helped to destroy. As he revealed the articles of my past to me, I felt inexplicably old. I had far outlived my expected years – harboring apostates since I was a child, it was a wonder I had made it to adolescence. With the sharp and often untamed tongue I possessed, it was certainly a curiosity as to how I had walked away from possibly a hundred different situations entirely intact.

"...Vael thinks you are dead."

The words caught me off guard. I removed myself from my thoughts and looked directly at Knight-Commander Cullen, the age and stress showing in lines around his mouth and eyes.

Sebastian Vael, King of Starkhaven (he had, of course, won back his country), wanted my blood for allowing Anders to live – and, moreover, for standing with the mages. Salt in the wound, or so I imagined.

"You told him-"

"I suggested. There were signs of your companions leaving the city, but you disappeared. Far be it from me to tell him where you were; he never directly asked. He sent people after you, but not a one of them inquired as to your location inside of Kirkwall. I….would not have told him regardless." His eyes, darkened with sadness, made me believe that he really wouldn't have, "There were many bodies so maimed as to be indistinguishable. It was not out of the realm of possibility that you had perished."

"He wouldn't have believed-"

He paused, giving me an indescribable look. "There were thoughts of it not being entirely unintentional."

Not only was I dead, but I had allowed myself to be killed.

Hadn't I?

Marion Hawke was no more. I was now a nameless rogue, with no family or friends. Every member of my family was dead and all of my friends had disappeared. It was better this way; I couldn't hurt them any longer. The only person that knew me in any real way was standing there, fighting against the emotions that I could see in his eyes. I half expected him to up and disappear. Or to never have existed at all.

Shaking my head, I searched through the trunk, picking up a few of the trinkets Cullen had managed to salvage. One that I had not expected thunked hard against the wooden bottom of the trunk as I withdrew a worn leather breastplate, which I unceremoniously dropped onto the deck as I noticed the smaller trinket that remained in the trunk. Tears welled in my eyes and blurred the small wooden statue. I reached out for it but pulled my hand back, afraid of what touching it might do to me. Standing, I swiped at my eyes as inconspicuously as I could manage.

"I can't..." I found his eyes with mine, my fingers suddenly cold as the blood rushed to my rapidly beating heart. "It's-"

"Please, Marion." His voice was choked. He cleared his throat but did not continue.

We stood without speaking for a long while, watching each with looks long forgotten. Letting out a heavy sigh, I lifted the trunk of my own volition and placed it where it was meant to go. What I did next surprised me perhaps more than it did the Knight-Commander. With the trunk loaded onto the boat, everything ready for me to leave, I stepped forward. As I put my hands on Cullen's shoulders, I saw him stiffen noticeably. I believed it was surprise more than anything.

"Thank you." I spoke simply. I knew my eyes were sparkling, I could feel the prick of tears. I had never been one for much serious emotion, though Cullen had seen it more than most. It didn't serve me, so I tried not to acknowledge it much. This was not the first time this man had made me cry but I thought it would be the last.

He nodded, slowly but without any real conviction. He seemed more than a little distracted, unable to take my appreciation for what it really meant. His armor was hard and cold against the thin shirt they had given me to leave the prison in but the human connection, however tenuous, was something I reveled in. He was awkward and stiff, relaxing only after a moment, as if he was giving. When he did, I heard the old and familiar sound of the clinking of his gauntlets hitting the ground. His arms, still shielded, wrapped around me. His hands were warm where they touched my shirt.

"It is I who should be thanking you," He spoke into my ear, my hair cut shorter than either of us was used to. It was easier than trying to untangle it after seven years of very sporadic, cold baths. "You gave up everything...to fix a city that was not your home."

I smiled a little as I pulled back, hands on his shoulders again. "If I remember correctly, Knight-  
Commander, you are also a Ferelden at heart. Perhaps I did it for my countryman."

He laughed a little – not loudly but not without amusement. There had been numerous occasions in which I wanted to slit the throat of the man standing before me. Not then, though. No, not then.

I found his gauntlets for him as I had years before, though not to hide my face this time. I was too old to be embarrassed by my feelings, even if they seemed so far gone. I paused as I handed the metal over, his face turned towards mine.

"You could stay," he offered, a plea lacing his words.

I stalled. Part of me, the twenty-year-old me that remembered her first kiss (first million, more like) wanted nothing more than to stay. It had nothing to do with Kirkwall – in fact, I hated Kirkwall. It had taken everything from me and left me dead, or as good as. I knew I couldn't, though. I had no place in his life, in a life in Kirkwall. "And do what, Cullen? As a Knight-Commander, you couldn't very well make a wife of the woman that more or less single-handedly destroyed a Chantry and brought about the rebellion of every Circle in Thedas."

The word 'wife' passed my lips easily, but with a little bitterness. We were married, had been for years, but I had not been given much of a chance to be his wife. I tried; before the fight that had us at odds, before Anders, before he had been forced to lock me into a cell. It seemed so far in the past as to almost be two entirely different people.

He looked hurt but resolute. I could tell he wanted to beg me, as much as a grown man could. I was half-surprised he didn't pick me up and carry me away. I don't think I would have fought very hard.

"Where will you go elsewise?"

"Who knows," I shrugged, needing to leave. If I didn't soon, my resolve would crumble. The idea of settling down, perhaps raising a child (or perhaps not) with a man that had once loved me and still might was too tempting. It would have been easy, I told myself. "Perhaps I'll sail to the ends of the earth and be swallowed up by a sea monster. What a way to go." I laughed. He tried to fight his smile but doing so lost him the battle with his tears. I had seen him cry once before, though not overtly. It was the same then, the shining in his eyes but the refusal to spill. I wanted to touch his cheek, to reassure him. To say, 'Yes, sweetheart, I'll stay with you always.' but I couldn't, and I knew it. Couldn't reassure him, couldn't say it, couldn't stay.

"Will you ever come back?"

"I don't know."

"Will you write?"

"To what end?"

He let out a heavy, dejected sigh and seemed to resign himself to the fact that it was over. Everything. Me.

We stood for a long moment in silence and words passed unspoken between us that we had given up on some years ago. He took a step closer and I did not hesitate to close the space between us. Our lips met for one last, bittersweet kiss. My heart broke again, something I had not thought to be possible. I knew I was crying openly and did little to try and hide it.

"Goodbye, Knight-Commander. May the Maker watch over you and keep you safe."

I turned from him then, the two of us completely disconnected. The stilling air was slightly stale with no breeze coming off of the ocean and a sea of words that ebbed and flowed just beneath the surface of our conversation. I clamored into my little boat, and after he helped to launch me from the dock, he stood back as I began to drift away.

"And may the Maker someday bring you back to me. Dareth, emma lath."

It was all I could do not to jump from the boat and return to him. I could see his tears, then, something I had never experienced.

Again, my heart broke.

And again, I was alone.


	2. Light

There was no other man in the world like Anders; perhaps that was because of Justice, but I don't really know. All I know is that no one had ever, or has to this day, made me so love and so hate them all in the same moment, although Cullen came very close. He made me question myself, my beliefs, and everything around me. Between my mage and my templar, things happened to me that I was unaware could – especially to a sharp-faced, boy-bodied eldest daughter.

When I first met Anders in his clinic in Darktown, saw him bent over the poor ailing child, and that ethereal blue light... I was struck, immediately. I heard Bethany's gasp, knew what I was seeing. He was, by definition, an Abomination. No mage could do that on his own. But I didn't flinch. Instead, I stepped closer.

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?" he roared at us, taking up his staff and spinning towards us in one graceful movement. I had lifted my hands in a show of surrender, though my companions did the opposite.

"I wish you no harm," I started and glanced to my right and to my left, signaling to Varric, Aveline, and Bethany to hold back their attack. Aveline looked like a lioness, ready to step to my aid. Bethany, her fear of what this man was still evident on her features, gripped her staff with white knuckles.

Varric, however, pouted. "Oh, but Bianca is bored!"

"We'll find some riffraff on the way out, Varric. Everyone, calm down." I gave a sharp, though apologetic, look over the group before turning to look at the man in front of me. "Anders, correct?"

The blond mage pursed his lips but nodded; he did not replace his staff against the wall, though his grip relaxed just a little.

"Are you a-"

"Bethany, please do not alienate a friend we have yet to make. Stay your curiosity, sister," I sent a pleading looking to the youngest, last-surviving Hawke and turned a, hopefully, charming smile onto the healer.

"No," Anders answered the question that had not been completed, "I am not a maleficar. Yes, I am an apostate. No, I am not from Kirkwall."

"A Grey Warden from Ferelden, we heard," Varric chimed in.

Maker, if everyone would just let me talk...

"Yes."

"Weren't you at Vigil's Keep?" Aveline asked, excited by the idea of having worked alongside the Hero of Ferelden. They had met, only briefly, at Ostagar. At the time, neither had known that the young woman that had appeared out of nowhere would some day have slain an Archdemon and come to rule (sort of) beside Maric's lost son.

"For a time, yes. A friend gifted me with a kitten, which the Wardens decided made me 'soft'. Said I had to be rid of him, Ser Pounce-a-Lot. I had to leave him with a friend in Amaranthine. Just...got sick of all the fighting and the Darkspawn after a while. With Ser Pounce-a-Lot and Gwen-...err, the Queen-Commander gone, it was a whole lot of monotony. Came here to see what I could do for my fellow...Fereldens."

"You abandoned your post?"

"Aveline!" I snapped, turning an ungrateful eye on her before I looked back to Anders. "Please, forgive my companions.

"What was that light?" Bethany snuck in – Anders sighed a little, though looked less irritated than I had entirely expected.

"...My friend," he replied without much venom, though with a slight curtness. "Justice. Or, he was. It is a long story, for another time. I doubt you came through Darktown to get to know me, and none of you are injured. What is it that I can do for you?"

"We are trying to get into the Deep Roads on an expedition. Hawke here was hoping you might have some insider knowledge, what with having been a Grey Warden and all," Varric spoke up again and I wanted to make a very physical show of how irritated I was with the lot of them.

"So that's your name, then?" Anders responded, ignoring the suggestion.

"Oh, terribly sorry," I frowned – despite looking like a pre-pubescent (albeit not particularly short one) boy, I had the femininity to blush. "Marion Hawke. Most call me Hawke, however. It's a titch better than Mary," I smiled, attempting to get some sort of similar reaction from him. His lips twitched but the expression did not stick.

"It's a pleasure," he responded, and the tone of his voice betrayed that he might actually think it was. Almost. Given a different circumstance – the Hanged Man, perhaps. "Well. I have got a proposition for you."

"I'm not that sort of woman," I let out with a giggle, and he snorted as he tried to suppress a laugh. He looked like he sorely wanted to, but would not betray the persona he had tried so painstakingly to create thus far. "But, perhaps, we can come up with an exchange of services."

He didn't seem to have time for such banter as he pulled me aside and, with a sort of manic urgency, spoke of a mage that was to meet him at the Chantry that evening and would I come with him?

That seemed simple enough.

How wrong I was.

The mage we met was Karl – whom, I would come to find out, Anders had fancied himself in love with at some point. I do not mean to demean their relationship, though he did once tell me he had been playing at love then, now that he knew what it was. With me, he made sure I knew. With me, it was real.

What a lark.

The time did not pass well in the Chantry that evening, and Justice – or Vengeance, as I would come to know – came out to play. It was tragic, dramatic, and a serious issue. But, in the midst of the terror and fright, I felt awe. This man, this pained and bitter man, held so much power. The will that he had to keep the Fade spirit from destroying everything...the will he had to not decimate every templar with which he came into contact, that was something to behold. It wasn't necessarily the power of his magic enhanced by Justice that left me speechless as it was the mind that could keep such boundless knowledge in check. At least for the time being.

Months passed and he joined us with more frequency. He, Varric, and I would meet for a draft of ale occasionally – though, Anders insisted, Justice did not approve of his drinking so he rarely, if ever, imbibed. He offered to come with us on our Deep Roads expedition when the time came. I was relieved – I would not dare bring Bethany with us. Mother would never have forgiven me if she had succumbed to the Darkspawn. Then again, I doubt Mother ever forgave me for allowing the templars to take her, despite the fact that Bethany refused to let me fight for her. It was almost like she wanted to go, despite her later feelings towards me.

That night, the night they took my sister to the Gallows, was the night we returned from the Deep Roads. I was sore, caked in dirt, unspeakably angry, and dreadfully...well, sad. Mother wanted nothing to do with me; Uncle Gamlen all but bit my head off when I tried to return home. Instead of forcing the issue, I headed out for a walk. I was going in no direction in particular, just hoping for some trouble. I wanted to take that templar's head – Cullen. What a backwards ass he was. Bethany and I had saved his life, and this was how he repaid us? By not turning me in for 'harboring an apostate'. Piss on that, I say.

So, unable to bestow upon him some proper righteous fury, I opted for some unfortunate thieving scum.

It was no secret that few in Kirkwall appreciated the Fereldens that had come over because of the Blight, and despite my infamy (amongst unsavory characters, that is) I was not spared this loathing. It, perhaps, increased it. I should not have been surprised then, when nearing The Hanged Man tavern, I was set upon by a group of Coterie members.

Now, I am hardly a weakling and I can certainly hold my own. I challenge anyone, however, to take a dagger in the side and a fist to the chin and not be a little dazed.

Thankfully, there were only three of them. Their assault on me only fueled my anger and, despite gaining quite a few lovely new scars, I made it out alive. I cannot say the same for the men that attacked me.

"We Fereldens aren't so useless," I spat on the groaning man that had moments, most likely, to live before I stepped around him and then dragged myself into the tavern. I wanted to find a tall draft of ale. I needed a healing potion. I had four coppers on me. The ale won out.

"Oi, don't you go bleedin' on my chair, Ferelden," the barkeep narrowed his eyes at me as I slumped down with the mug.

I barked back something unintelligible before I took a long swig. The world swam as I put the mug down again. I knew it was not the alcohol.

Oh, what I fool I was.

"...Hawke?"

Blond hair, slightly tanned skin, and a mixture of dark colors for a body swam in front of me. What I thought I said was, "Anders! What are you doing here?"

He, I don't think, heard much of it. "Andraste's knicker weasels, Hawke..."

He scooped me up in his arms. I lifted my arms to fight him, but to no avail. The world was growing dark and my hearing was fading, but I did catch, "...don't you...Hawke, come...Marion, Marion..."

The world came back in a rush, my inhale sharp and painful. The brilliance of the light, which to anyone else would have been dull, hurt my eyes. I ached everywhere, and then nowhere. Wisps of blue light, bright white in the center, faded very slowly. Anders slumped back over me to the left. I suddenly felt the hardness of...wood? Beneath my back. Not a cot. A...table?

"...Anders?" I choked out, my voice nothing like its normal self. I cleared my throat, sat up. There was a gentle ache between my shoulder blades, where I had fallen back onto the table after my intake of air.

He was breathing heavily, hands on his knees as he staggered. Slowly, he straightened his spine, standing without the assistance of the wall, and shuffled his feet to come back to my side. With his palms on the table, he leaned near to me. "You're all right?"

"You saved my life." I blinked. Anders didn't. His honey-colored eyes remained on my face and it was almost too much.

"It isn't the first time, though it was the closest. You haven't got an ounce of sense in you, do you?"

"...there's no room for it, what with all the daring, wit, and brilliance," I snorted, shifting so that my hips were resolutely beneath my shoulders. I straightened my spine, set my shoulders back. I hissed out a breath, squeezing my eyes shut. With my inhale, I opened my eyes to find Anders. He stood up a little more, though remained close.

My next move was involuntary, my hand reaching out to touch the hand that remained near my thigh. "Thank you, Anders."

The words, which had been said a million times before, held more weight for me than I had intended. I was revealing more than I wanted to, and he was seeing it. His head lifted and turned and his fingers curled around mine, his eyes on the shape they made when intertwined. It was a moment before he pulled back, bringing his hands up to cross his arms and shaking his head.

I frowned a little unwittingly and made to move off of the table.

"What brought this on?" he asked, standing at a suitable distance.

"They took her."

There was no need to explain to him what I meant; the last he had known from earlier that day, I was rich. I had gone home to pass on the good news – we could buy the Amell Estate back. Our name could be a blessing, not a curse, once more. But the dark look, mixed with the flash of Justice, and I knew that he knew.

"My baby sister..." I clenched my jaw, making sure not to look at him. I was exhausted, physically as well as mentally. It would be too easy for me to cry. That would not do, not at all. "She let them, too. Wouldn't let me cut the head off of that rat bastard and save her from it."

He was at me in a moment, his hands on my shoulders. Justice – Vengence? I still couldn't tell the difference – glowed beneath the surface. His voice at first held the ethereal tone of the Fade. "Hawke, we-" He stopped, his jaw muscles clenching. He shook me a little with his hands on my shoulders, then moved his hands to my face and forced me to look at him. "Don't you dare, Mari-…Hawke... They would-"

"I know, Anders," I frowned.

"They'll do it for me, if they-"

"Hold your tongue," I stood fiercely. He didn't move back, which kept me trapped between him, his hands now on my shoulders again, and the edge of the table. "I will not lose you too, Anders." I felt as if I was glowing too, though it was certainly not with magic.

"What am I to you?" he spat, anger flaring as he turned away from me. "Nothing to risk your life over." He inhaled shakily, his tone changing as he turned to look at me with sorrow in his eyes. "The thought of the templars hurting you...It makes my blood boil. I couldn't let you get hurt because of me."

"You listen to me, you sodding fool," I followed him, putting my hand on his arm, "You've told me you can't do this, you'll break my heart. My heart breaks every day over the injustices done to people I should be able to help - Fereldens, the Qunari, mages. I fight to save them and sometimes I break other things. Those, you fix. Perhaps-"

"Marion," he started, his face and voice tense. He looked at me with resolution clouding his gaze.

I waited.

And waited.

He cleared his throat and straightened his spine. "...Hawke, I...should go."

And go he did. He left me standing there with all my pain, my confusion, and quite a bit of ale. I stayed in The Hanged Man that night and didn't speak to anyone for a week. Well, aside from merchants and messengers. I had an estate to purchase, a life to change. I swallowed my pride and my tears, stamped down thoughts of Bethany, thoughts of Anders, and tore the heads off of a few more seedy individuals with enough stupidity to attempt to jump me.

I was back, at least for now.


	3. Metal

Templars and mages were still a sore spot several weeks after Bethany was taken, but I was so overwhelmed with the new estate, the Qunari, and avoiding speaking to or about Anders that I barely even noticed being backed into a wall by a bulky silver beast.

A templar.

Not a very good rogue, I suppose, wandering about the Gallows, paying absolutely no mind to my surroundings insomuch that a clunky templar could corner me. Lumbering arses, anyway.

And I was alone.

I did this sometimes – perhaps it had become routine, really. When I couldn't sleep (which was often) I would stalk the Gallows' courtyard for thugs or signs of Bethany. I was just waiting for her to show up, peddling wears. I would tear the place apart with my bare hands and wring the neck of the Knight-Commander, the one that made her Tranquil, and the man that in that moment pressing my shoulder against the stone wall.

I looked up to see the face of the Knight-Captain, the man that had stolen my sister. It was everything I could do not to spit in his face. I, for one, don't much like spit. I very much wanted to, however.

As my eyes settled on his hazel ones I noticed his grip on my shoulder was not tight and was only one-handed. He did not speak as he turned his head, presumably to check for other templars in the area.

"What-"

"Hush." His head swiveled back and he gave me a proper stare. After another moment, his gauntlet-covered hand wrapped around my forearm and he pulled me along quickly. We dodged out of sight, into an alcove hidden from most anywhere.

"This must be done quickly," he began, keeping his body in the shadows and pulling me rather close to keep me hidden as well. It was strange, the closeness of the man I remember most wanting to kill. Some of the time. "I haven't much time before my absence is noticed, though excuses are plentiful..." He paused and moved us so that he could very pointedly look into my eyes. "Hawke. Do you remember me?"

I nodded, as I did not trust myself to speak.

"And I you, Lady. I am sorry that your most recent memory must be of..." He didn't finish. It was probably for the best. I was restraining myself, but if he said the words it was very plausible that they would be his last. "...but that is rather why I have been searching you out these past few weeks."

"Why didn't you write?"

"I could not risk it being found. For my worries to be assuaged, it would have to have been in such deep code that-"

"Why didn't you write me a letter to get me here?"

Cullen's face became blank with thought and, after half a second, he chuckled. "I suppose that would have been suitable. However, it still might have-"

"I imagine the worst that would have been assumed of it was that we are having a tryst. As many recruits frequent the Blooming Rose, I find it hard to believe that you would have gotten much more than a slap on the wrist. However, our non-existent love life is not in question here. What do you want?"

Although he was looking at me almost as if I had two heads, he pressed on.

"To apologize," he spoke after a moment, though his tone was odd. It was matter-of-fact and apologetic, not insincere but somehow a little off.

"In what way?"

"I'd like to bring you to her."

I wasn't quite sure how to feel about the suggestion. On the one hand, I would have given anything to see my sister again. On the other -

"What do you want?"

His eyebrows furrowed at my tone and his hands found my shoulders as he looked down at me. "To bring you to your sister, serrah."

"...You are not so kind as to not ask anything of me."

He looked somewhat hurt at this, but my rather obvious anger kept him from saying anything to disagree. "Hawke, honestly – I had to do what I did. When she was found out, there was no way around it. I was trying to protect you for what you have done for me. It was the best I could do."

He was trying to protect me. He had said he wasn't going to (but could) arrest me. Us. Mother. I deflated a little, though anger still hummed beneath the surface. "I am inclined to trust you, though I am not entirely sure why. What do you propose, Knight-Captain?"

"...Cullen. Call me Cullen."

We couldn't do it that night – he needed more time to prepare, to make absolutely sure that I would not be caught. He arranged it with Bethany as well, so that she would be where she needed to when the time was right.

It was another week and a half before the timing was perfect. I couldn't very well go in the front door – it was my job to find a way in and meet him at his quarters, which he had pointed out on a map.

I was never more thankful than that night that I had been born with some semblance of grace. He told me, if I was going to bring weapons, to hide them. I was to look as normal as possible in the event of being caught. He did not want any bloodshed. I did what he asked, though I hoped I would not come to regret it.

His window was easy enough to get to, though the bars made it a little harder for me to get in. Being rather board-like in physique, it could have been more difficult. As I came to stand in the confines of the Knight-Captain's room, I was struck by how small it was. It looked rather like my own had at Gamlen's, though much cleaner. It helped that his floor was made of stone, not dirt. He had a bookshelf lining one entire wall and a bed that looked about as comfortable to sleep on as his desk.

The door creaked open and I jumped to the shadows of the corner, ducking inside the wardrobe at the foot of his bed. I left the door cracked enough to keep watch, though not enough to reveal my location. In walked Cullen, laughing back and calling over his shoulder.

Something about a nug.

He was much less dressed than I was used to, which I found incredibly distracting. His legs were covered in the sort of pants one wears beneath armor. His wet hair, though short, dripped occasionally onto his bare shoulders, the water winding down the plane of his chest. It was rather incredible, that chest of his. I had seen soldiers before, of course, but not so bare. Bathing with a shirt on in the river behind our home in Lothering, mostly. Our family kept to ourselves, it was no wonder that I had never seen a man so revealed.

It was brilliant. His muscles flowed like water as he moved, straining beneath his skin to propel him towards the wardrobe at the foot of the bed.

Me.

My eyes widened a little and, in an attempt to soften the blow, I spoke.

"Don't jump," from inside the wardrobe.

Cullen's voice caught but he regained himself, pulling the door open. "Hawke?"

I nodded, extending one leg out to set my foot on the floor and following it with the other. I wore a dress – a simple thing, light blue and without frills. It did not flow much, as that made scaling buildings difficult. It was, perhaps, a little too tight and a little too short for a respectable noble. I didn't think it would do us much good if they thought I was one.

My hair, which I normally wore up and back to keep out of my eyes, was brushed and down. I was still hardly entrancing, but I looked much more like a woman. A little rouge and I would've looked like I belonged in the Blooming Rose.

"Yes, it's me. You can put your tongue away, Cullen – I know I look ridiculous."

"Not exactly the adjective I would have used," he suppressed a smile (probably a snarky one) and extended his hand to me, leading me over to sit in his desk chair. "You are a little early – no problem, better than late – but you'll have to excuse me for my state of undress."

"No excuses necessary," I murmured, surprising even myself. Color rose in my cheeks a little and I turned aside, suddenly fascinated by a small mabari statue atop his desk. I picked it up and ran my fingers along the well-crafted surface.

"My father carved that for me. We aren't allowed to have dogs here. His – mine, I mean – name was Enansel. It's-"

"Elvish. Spirit," I smiled a little, turning the statue over and over in my hands. "An odd thing for a templar to name his dog."

He came over, leaning against the desk as he looked down at me. His arms folded across his chest as his knees bent, bringing him to about face height while I sat. "My father's sister was half elf. He didn't even know she was alive until just before I was born. She had spent some time with the Dalish – not too long. They are kinder to half-elves than the ones in Alienages, but not by much. She'd been told about my father in a letter once and, with no other family, she found us. She lived with us throughout my childhood. She told me many stories of the Elvhen – about magic, too."

"Why did you become a templar?" I blurted without thinking. I didn't know if he would answer – or be honest – but it didn't make sense, for someone that grew up with such an open-minded family.

His face darkened a little, though not much. "Are you familiar with the story of Thalsian? Some believe he learned blood magic from elves, some from Dumat. Regardless of where he learned it...As a mage, he built the Tevinter Imperium on the backs of elves and humans alike, all with blood magic. As a child, I couldn't imagine my poor aunt, entirely elf or not, being taken away. Her family – my family – being murdered for power. So I became a templar to stop it."

It was a child's noble dream. Sweet. Somewhat depressing insomuch as how much good can one man do? The next Thalsian would most likely come out of Tevinter, anyway – a Circle in Ferelden or Kirkwall wasn't going to save the world.

But it was sweet.

I smiled a little and offered the statue to Cullen, who was still close. "I have a mabari, you know. Calenhad."

"The lake around the Circle?"

I laughed. "Which is named after King Calenhad."

"I know who he is," he responded with a joking frustration.

"I would hope so. He is said to have had the backing of the mages when he proposed himself as king. One man could not frighten so many powerful beings – he had to be doing something right. But I meant to tell you that you're welcome to come see him. Aveline takes him out sometimes with the Guard as well." I wasn't sure where it came from, this genial remark about him being welcome in my home. It had come out, however surprising, and I wasn't about to take it back. There was something about him that had me regretting my desire to kill him previously. He was just so…kind.

He stood slowly and set the statue back on the desk before he offered a hand down to me. I stood and stumbled a little – where was my grace from earlier? - which caused me to pitch forward against this strange man's bare chest. It was warmer than I had expected – being shirtless for so long would have certainly made my skin icy. He was like a fireball to the chest, though. For half a second, I thought his arms were coming around me. I stopped thinking on it, however, and both of us backed away. I blinked a little but skirted around the chair, making for the bed. Obviously, I couldn't sit in a chair. Maybe something a little longer would be all right.

"I'm-" he started, stammering a little as he tried to form a sentence. His mouth would, apparently, have none of it. Eventually, however, a knock on the door stopped him.

A knock.

His eyes widened and my face mirrored his. I thought about diving beneath the bed, hopping back into the wardrobe, even hiding behind the door.

"Who's it?" Cullen asked, sounding surprisingly nonchalant.

"Recruit Hugh, Knight-Captain."

Hugh. The name was familiar.

Cullen moved to the door and opened it. I jumped away from the bed as he moved, feeling like a caged animal. He wasn't motioning for me to hide or shooing me away.

Cullen opened the door and stepped out.

I snorted, leaning back against the desk. Why didn't I think of that?

We spent little more time either making idle conversation or not speaking at all when he returned, shortly after he left. It seemed that we had done all of the getting-to-know-each-other that we could stand with the dog statue rolling between our hands. It was some time before Cullen was dressed – I helped with his armor, though he was capable of doing it on his own. It gave my nervous fingers something to do instead of tear his bedsheets to shreds.

"I'll go and check the hall," he offered, straightening his gauntlet a little before he disappeared from the room.

It was some moments before he came back, during which time I spent looking over the spines on the bookshelf. I'd read a lot of them, wanted to read more, and hadn't heard of some. I didn't have to agree with all of the Chantry's teachings (most pointedly the idea of mages being inherently evil, more or less) to be interested in learning more. You're better prepared for battle if you know the steps your foe is most likely to take.

He opened the door and motioned to me. I blew out the candle he had left me with and moved over to the entrance, letting him close it behind me. I stayed in his shadow or the shadow of doorways, keeping as out of sight as I could while still being close enough for him to speak if he felt the need to do so. It was a tricky thing, walking down the hallway full of warriors that would take me down without a second thought while trying to be amiable to the man that was, in effect, the reason I was there in the first place.

And I couldn't get the heat of his magnificent chest out of my mind. It wasn't in the forefront – of course not. But flashes of it would strike me when I let my mind drift a little. It was in one of those moments, a distracted one, when I found myself crushed against a wall. My nerves set on fire as the stone scraped against what bare skin it could get at and my hands itched for my daggers, ones hidden by way of holsters that no one was ever likely to see.

Templar armor pressed me between a rock and a hard place. I heard a clatter and felt a hand on my face, stubble along my cheek. Breath on my neck. Words in my ear.

"...someone's coming. Try not to let them see your face."

Cullen. Cullen was the one crushing me against the wall, that chest of his guarded by the templar armor that was cold against my dress and my skin. His hand was warm on the curve of my neck, more intimate than I knew how to handle. Anders had been hinting, though not frequently, for some time now. He would back-peddle often – a slight flirtation, then he would avoid me for days. There was no way to keep up with that man, so I had given up.

I was thinking about Anders when Cullen's lips covered mine. Not for long, however.

Fear of getting caught wasn't the worst reason for a first kiss, though I suppose it could have been a bit more romantic.

I could hear heavy metallic footsteps approaching us in the hall. Cullen's hand shifted to my cheek, his other warm on my waist. My hair made the kissing a task, but I was to keep my face hidden. The kisses were chaste but grew in fervency as the footsteps approached, as if the more actively he kissed me the faster this intruding templar would pass.

"Oi, Cullen – best keeping your woman in your room. You don't want to have to share her, do you?" An unfamiliar male voice spoke as the footsteps slowed to a halt. I stiffened in Cullen's arms, trying to mentally gauge the best position to put myself in without opening my eyes.

Cullen made a disapproving noise into the kiss and the hand that held defiantly onto my waist was gone. With the slight movement of his body, I imagine he was waving off the other templar. Now, all of this going on while kissing someone is rather...awkward. Not that I knew that at the time, it being my first go-round. And besides, it was a giant ruse. It didn't matter if it was romantic or not.

The templar that I couldn't see made a sound like a snort and soon the footsteps were on their way out. The kiss continued. Cullen's hands were both on my waist, the metal of his breastplate warm now from being pressed between us. I couldn't hear the footsteps any more, but I wasn't really listening.

It wasn't until we made to part that I realized my hand was in his hair. Soft, lovely curls. It should have been a sin for a man to have such nice hair, and the color too...not that the color mattered much with my eyes closed.

I felt dizzy, then, as I moved my hands to my sides. I turned away from him, grabbing his gauntlets as to avoid actually looking at him. My face was hot and I could see the blush in my cheeks in the blurry portrait of me that was painted across his chest. He was flushed as well, the color a faint notion spreading from the roots of his hair and disappearing into the collar of his armor.

"Here..." I breathed, holding the gauntlet out so that he could slip his hand into it, repeating the action with the second. "Guess that's why you had me dress so casually. I wouldn't have thought of it. Good plan, Knight-Captain."

"Please, serrah, call me Cullen."

"Then call me Hawke."

The rest of our trek to Bethany's hiding place – the library – was much less eventful. Unfortunately, however, I now had to contend with the sight and feel of his chest as well as the memory of the pressure of his lips against mine. Once I left the Gallows, I decided, I would return to the Hanged Man for copious amounts of alcohol. Or maybe the Blooming Rose, to figure out what it was all about.

Cullen left me at the door, allowing me to find my sister in the candlelight on my own.

She looked...thin. Not sick, not bruised. Just thin.

"They not feeding you, sister?" I murmured, coming up behind her as she looked out the window. She jumped a bit, turning about to face me. Her face was a little drawn, but not totally unhappy. Just tired, mostly. A bit older.

"Marion!" she exclaimed, though quietly, and rushed towards me. Her arms wrapped around me and mine around her. "Did you wear your hair down just for me?" she laughed into my neck.

"Of course, Bethany," I breathed a smile, closing my eyes against my emotions as I held her tightly. "You're all right, then, Bethie?"

She nodded against me. We did not part. "I am learning a lot, like my letters say. You've been getting them, right?" I indicated the affirmative. "Good. I hoped as much. The lessons are good. Orsino has focused on me a lot – if he isn't teaching me, one of the other Senior Enchanters is. I attend the regular lessons like the other apprentices, but Orsino wants to make sure I pass my Harrowing."

I'd heard of the Harrowing. And it sounded...well...aptly named. "Of course you will, sister. Is it scheduled yet?"

"It's tomorrow."

My heart sank. I knew Bethany could do it, but that didn't mean I wasn't terrified.

"Bethany Revka Hawke, you promise me..." I started, frowning. "You just promise, would you?"

She smiled, a ghost of a laugh as she backed up from the hug. "I promise, sister."

I took up her hands, holding them between us much like when we were younger. "You don't hat-"

She dropped my hands. "Please," her lips turned down and her face grew tight. So she did resent me for it. Just like Mother. "Let's not talk about that now. How much longer have we-"

A knock at the door. Cullen, three raps, telling me I needed to leave. I stepped forward and scooped her into a hug. "Baby Bethie... I love you, sister. I am so, so sorry."

"I-" she started but I shook my head.

"I know." Pressing a kiss to her forehead, I squeezed her hands one last time before moving to the door of the library. "Now get some sleep. You've got some demon arse to burn."

She laughed a little, like she used to, as I disappeared back into the hallway. Cullen stood by, looking down at me when I appeared.

"Was it everything you wanted?"

Truth be told, no. Some part of me, no matter how much I knew she hated me, wanted her to forgive me all of it. Father. Lothering. Carver. The templars. But she didn't. And she wouldn't.

Offering Cullen a less than winning smile, I patted his armored shoulder. "Thank you, Cullen. I can't express to you how much I appreciate your help."

He seemed wholly unconvinced but began the trek back to his room. The moon was making its way out of the sky when he closed the door behind us. He began to remove his armor as I stood, looking out the window. I needed to leave.

"Hawke..."

I turned, arms folding over my chest. I had been contemplating the best way to go down the wall – it was an entirely different endeavor than going up.

"We give them eight hours. Meet me in the same alcove after dark. I will know by then."

He was talking about Bethany. He was going to let me know before she wrote her letter, for my piece of mind. His armor was on its stand in the corner now and he stood in a loose tunic and soft-looking trousers. I moved away from the window and put my hand on his shoulder tentatively, unsure of the status of our friendship. I do suppose that if anyone was going to kill anyone, I'd be the one with the knife.

"Cullen...Thank you." I paused, the warmth of his chest disconcerting beneath my fingertips. My head felt light again. "You have no reason to risk so much for me and know...you have a friend, should you need one."

His hand covered mine and my heart flew into my throat. This man whom I had sworn to kill over numerous mugs of ale had his warm, calloused hand wrapped around mine and his eyes were scorching a path across me.

"It's your eyes," he blurted. From the color that rose in his cheeks, I imagine that he hadn't meant to say much of anything.

The hand that wasn't on mine moved unexpectedly behind me. He was warm everywhere – I thought, perhaps, he had a fever. Or I was very, very cold.

"I hope you know that, had there been any other way to protect your sister, I would have. She needs to be here for her safety as much as that of anyone else."

"If I was a mage?" I chirped, blinking. I expected him to let go then but instead, he pulled me closer.

"You might as well be," he murmured, eyes locked on mine. "You are a dangerous foe and perhaps an even more destructive friend, Marion Hawke." We were so close I thought he meant to kiss me again. We stayed like that for a moment, our chests pressing closer with every breath. I was dizzied by our proximity but made no move to back away. Cullen inhaled sharply and shook his head. His arms dropped and so did mine. I was suddenly surrounded by cold air and very, very alone. I felt almost naked as I stood before him.

"I will see you after dark, Hawke."

And I left, sliding myself through the bars on his windows and scaling down the walls of the Gallows before dropping to the ground and winding my way to the Hanged Man.

Ale. Lots and lots of ale.


	4. Rain

Anders was convinced that Ser Alrik was a pig. I didn't really know much about him, but he was so damned convinced. I wanted to ask Cullen – he would know. Or he would have a better idea. Anders insisted that involving my "pet Templar" wouldn't do us any favors (Anders very, very much disapproved of the time I spent with Cullen). So, instead, we found our way into the Gallows Dungeon. It was the day of Bethany's Harrowing. On our trek down, I imagined what she was doing on the floors above me. I ached to break in again, to see her – to apologize, over and over. I knew it wouldn't do me any good so instead, I fought. Smugglers and templars.

Killing templars had never bothered me, especially not a snake like that one. I thought of him saying the same words to my sister and my blood boiled.

Not as fast as Anders' did. He – rather, Justice or Vengeance, still I did not know which was which – decimated the group with little help from us. As we caught our breath after, the mage girl still curled out of harm's way, he approached her.

"Abomination!" she cried, an accusatory arm outstretched.

"Foolish girl," the Fade-laden voice of Justice fell forth from Anders's lips, the cowering girl glowing blue with the light that came off of the spirit-inhabited man before me. "You must be one of theirs, infected with-"

"Anders," I spoke, gripping the hilt of one dagger. I did not want to hurt him. "Anders, listen to yourself – this girl is who we're fighting for."

"She is one of them! I can feel-"

"Anders!" I took a step towards him,. "Anders, you must recognize what you're doing. We came here to stop mages from being made Tranquil. Ser Alrik is dead, Anders."

The glow pulsed, exploded, and then finally receded. I put my hand out and Anders recoiled.

"I..." he started, his eyes wild as he looked at me. He backed away, tripping a little as he did so. "I need to...leave."

And he did. Without another word, Anders took off from the secret tunnel and left Varric, Aveline, and I with a very terrified young woman.

"I'm...Ella," she murmured as I held a hand out to her to help her stand.

"I'm Hawke," I responded, offering an apologetic smile. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, dusting herself off. "I just wanted to see my mother. They never...they never told her what was happening. Where they were taking me."

"I know you want to see her, but it's safer for you – and for her – if you go back to the Circle. Varric, do you have any parchment?"

The dwarf nodded and offered it to me. He, luckily, had a quill as well. "Here, child, write her a letter and write down where she lives. I'll take it to her myself. My sister, Bethany, is at the Circle. I'll write to her about you, she'll watch out for you." At least, I prayed, she would be able to.

Ella watched me curiously for a moment and I gave her another smile. I touched her gently on the shoulder, "Don't worry, Ella. We'll help to keep you safe. I hope you know that not all templars are like Alrik, and not all apostates are like Anders."

"That was his name?" she asked, squinting a little as if the word had formed in the air. I nodded and she frowned, shaking her head. She said nothing else as she began to write her letter against a stone. I turned back to the looks on my companions' faces and wished I hadn't.

"You're going to have to talk to him," Varric said, his voice betraying both his disapproval and disappointment at the developing situation.

"It seems like he's having more difficulty controlling it," Aveline added and I frowned. I knew that. I knew both of them were right. I had been trying to ignore it, trying to pretend like nothing was wrong.

Ella gave me the letter and we escorted her as far as we could. She planned to sneak back in – I mentioned it to Cullen when I told him of Ser Alrik. He did not seem pleased at being brought into all of it and warned me, yet again, of the company I kept. He, however, spoke little else on the matter and reminded me to meet him that evening. I would, but first there was Anders.

I left Aveline and Varric at the Hanged Man – Isabela had gone to find Merrill, and Fenris would show up on his own. Stories and ale were to be shared that evening, though everyone knew I would not be joining them. And neither would Anders.

I didn't mind Darktown much, aside from the smell. Once you were down there for a while, though, you forgot to notice.

I didn't knock – I never did. I slipped in between the creaking, wrecked door and the rotting wall to find Anders bent over an open trunk, seemingly sorting things into piles.

"Anders?"

He stopped, stiffening as he turned around. "What-"

"Please, Anders, let me talk for just a moment." His face dropped a little from the tightened look he had been giving me. I moved closer, though there was still a gap. I extended my hand, a piece of parchment in it. "I found Ser Alrik's papers. It seems that he was the only one to believe in the Rite of Tranquility. Both Meredith and the Divine rejected it." I neglected to mention the unfortunate response Cullen had given me when I had explained what I could of our interaction with Ser Alrik. I decided then not to speak to him again of mages or templars, if it was at all avoidable. He could have easily had me arrested for what had transpired but, again, he did not.

Anders' eyes widened and he snatched the paper from me, scanning it. His face contorted, somewhere between happiness and anger as if he couldn't decide if he wanted to be glad that he had one less thing to fight about or not. Dropping the paper, he raised his eyes to me. "What of the girl?"

"She wrote a letter for her mother – I'm going to see her tomorrow, to deliver it."

"So she's back at the Circle, then?"

"It is safer there. Bethany-"

The air hummed with magic as Justice threatened.

"No," I responded, all but eliminating the space between Anders' body and mine. "Justice, I am here for Anders. I am speaking to Anders. I want nothing to do with you. This does not concern you."

"It is the plight of mages-"

"Just because you have a booming voice does not mean I cannot speak over you, spirit. Give Anders back to me. The mage girl is safe."

"With your precious templar?"

"With my sister," I growled, my hand itching for my dagger. I did not want to give Vengeance (for in that moment, I knew it was him with certainty) any more reason to attack. "Anders. Anders."

The blue glow receded, albeit unwillingly, and Anders stumbled a little. He frowned. "He's getting harder to control."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"I know." I paused. "Are you all right?"

He looked queasy for a moment. "If you hadn't been there, I don't know what I would have done."

"But I was, Anders. And you didn't. I'll always be here," I murmured, my face softening. I reached out and settled my hand on his arm. "Justice may be a part of you, but Vengeance does not have to be."

"I don't know that they're different."

I removed my hand after gently squeezing. "Then we will have to re-teach Justice what he really is, won't we? Justice is about what is most right for everyone, punishing the wicked appropriately for their crimes. Not every templar has harmed a mage, and not every mage is innocent. It is not so black and white as some – many, unfortunately – believe. Circles, given the right leadership, are a good thing. Everyone needs and deserves to learn. Especially mages, with such great responsibility. Warriors are trained with their weapons by those that know more than they do – like any other Maker-given gift, it needs to be honed."

He looked, at first, as if he was going to go into another fit. As I continued, though, he began to nod a little. "But how do we do that? Make them better?"

I shrugged a little, "We try. Prove not every mage is a maleficar, not every templar is power hungry or twisted. This has been building for as long as the two have existed – what people do not understand, they often fear. When people are afraid, they create ways to deal with that fear. It will not be easy and it will most likely be very unpleasant, but the best thing we can do is try."

Anders nodded a little, folding his arms over his chest. A sliver of moonlight shone on the floor of his shack from a hole in the wall, not so much a window.

He opened his mouth after a moment, beginning, "Hawke, there's-"

"Oh, Anders, I'm sorry, I need to go."

At first, he looked hurt. Then, his face darkened. "To meet the templar?"

I sighed. "It's about Bethany."

He waved his hand dismissively, turning away coldly. I huffed and made to remove myself from the clinic before Vengeance came back out to play.

"Be careful of the company you keep, Hawke."

"Funny," I stopped in the doorway, looking over my shoulder. "He often says the same thing."

It was some time after – weeks, perhaps? Maybe even months. - Bethany's Harrowing that I found myself in the Gallows courtyard at night. I returned often, most usually to speak with Cullen. We spoke of life and literature. Rarely of mages – the mage-templar relationship could do nothing for ours, so we let it lie as if it didn't affect us directly. It was better that way. Feigned ignorance allowed us to become friends.

I saw no sign of the Knight-Captain that evening beneath the moon, which was brilliantly full. I was almost concerned about walking around with how lit up the sky was that night. Humming a little to myself, I wandered aimlessly as per usual. I paid little heed to my surroundings – in all of my nightly walks in that particular part of the Gallows I had never been taken up against by thugs.

Without warning, however, as I passed by the familiar alcove, something gripped my arm. The pull was more gentle than a jerk, though no less abrupt. Again I was crushed between the hardness of a breastplate and the roughness of stone.

"Hawke."

It was Cullen. Even in the shadows of our hiding place, I could make out the gleam of his hair and the curve of his jaw. My heart, despite his familiarity, did not cease its rabbit-like beating. I was wrong – he wore no armor. The hardness was merely his chest. Much warmer than the night-cooled plate that occasionally covered it; I was rather surprised I hadn't noticed the difference immediately. He rarely did wear his templar get-up, especially when I climbed the Gallows wall to his room. Occasionally he would wear it when he came to see me – it depended on whether he came under the guise of business or not.

The strong arms that had curled around me after pulling me into secrecy remained wrapped as they were, holding me close in the cover of darkness and the secret hideaway. We often stood as near to each other in the alcove. Even when we were in his room or in the library of my estate, we were regularly side by side. From time to time, we would touch. There had even been moments when I thought, maybe, he would kiss me again. He did not, though I would often find him looking at me with a peculiar shine in his gray-green eyes. He would continue to watch me for a long moment before shaking his head. Sometimes, he would mumble something about rules, vows, the Maker, Meredith, or other unintelligible things.

In that moment, however, when his warmth encased me and his eyes entranced me, he mumbled nothing. I thought, perhaps, time had stopped. I could feel my pulse beating desperately in my head and his in his chest, his heart closer to my body than it had been since that first night in his room. I was unsure as to whether or not I was breathing, so unable was I to focus on anything but the man before me. It was an odd thing; certainly I thought of him, of our conversations, his glances, that feigned kiss and the warmth of his body. I never thought of it as any of the latter happening again, mostly fond reminiscing. And again, I was struck by the idea that I had ever thought of hurting him.

"I have been trying to convince myself out of this for weeks now," he began, speaking to me in hushed tones. "You are an incredible distraction. I often find myself thinking of you when it is most inopportune. Our talks..." he paused, giving me a charming smile, "I have not been able to speak so freely with someone in so long a time, I had nearly forgotten how to do it. Moreover, when we stand close..." He pulled me harder against him, if that was even possible, and I stretched my arms to lay across his shoulders so that our bodies were flush. My skin burned, his radiating heat.

"This is very wrong," Cullen spoke, his face somehow closer now and his words softer. His face betrayed the words he spoke, saying that it was anything but with the look he gave me. "But I..."

"Has anyone ever told you," I murmured with a raised eyebrow, "that you talk an awful lot?"

A grin spread across his face and laughter escaped his lips, though I did not have long to relish in his humor. Pressed back against the wall, his hands moved as if they had never been there. One along the curve of my neck, the other at my hip. And his lips. If I had been breathing before, I certainly wasn't then. It was not entirely unlike the end of our first kiss – it was dizzying and I felt as though I was on fire, tingling from the roots of my hair to my toes as they curled in my boots. It was different, though. I knew him now – and cared for him. And didn't necessarily want to slit his throat or even bestow upon him a lovely black eye. I don't know that I'd entirely forgiven him for taking Bethany, but I understood. Besides, it didn't matter in that moment. Nothing did, aside from the feel of his skin on mine as his fingertips snuck their way beneath my linen top. They did not venture far, but my knees grew weak as his hand held my waist with no hindrance. No man's hand, save for family as a child and Anders as a healer, had ever come into contact so perfectly with my skin so bare. His other hand had curved around, settled between my shoulder blades. One arm of mine had draped itself over a shoulder, the hand of the other found itself intertwined with his hair. How I loved his hair.

Our breathing was ragged when finally we parted. It was difficult to do so and the moment we did, I felt a pull that must have been magic edging me back towards him. His hands did not leave their positions and his head was back only far enough to look at me.

His eyes were wild in the moonlight as he pulled me off of the wall, both of his hands now beneath my shirt, settled on my back.

"You are a force of nature, Marion Hawke," he mumbled, burying his face in my neck. "You are the most striking woman..."

I was relieved that he didn't call me beautiful. I have never possessed any illusions about my appearance and a lie would have shattered our fragile moment. I do not mean to sound self-depreciating, merely rational.

"I am not the sort of man that takes advantage of my position," he began, loosening his grip a little. "I became a recruit as a very young man. I...know little of courting."

Courting. I couldn't keep back my giggle or my blush.

He looked suddenly very young. One hand left the middle of my back, leaving my skin cold for the want of it. It relocated to my cheek. "What's so funny?"

"The idea of being courted. At home, we kept to ourselves. We knew people, had friends...but getting too close to someone was dangerous for our family. Besides, there were plenty of girls that looked like girls in Lothering." I shrugged a little. "You're the first man I've ever kissed. Twice now, in fact."

He smiled at me and leaned in, pressing his lips to mine again.

"Oh...thrice," the same girlish-sounding laugh left my lips and I dared to kiss his cheek. The stubble there scratched gently against my skin. I repeated my action.

We recognized that we couldn't stand there all night. Instead, I let my hair down – literally – and we took off towards my Hightown estate. We alternated between walking hand-in-hand as we spoke quietly, racing each other, and stopping to steal kisses.

The rain began to fall as we reached my front door. It was a gentle tapping on the roof as we disappeared into my bedroom.

I had showed it to him once, after he jokingly commented about how I'd been in his. We opted to retire to the library on his visits for the comfortable chairs and sweet honey wine. That night, however, we took up in my bedroom and closed the door behind us.

Mostly, we talked. And kissed. Both of us were tentative and shy – this is not to say that either of us was unsure of what we wanted. We did, certainly – but we also both recognized that night was not the night.

We ended up on my bed, our bodies overlapping as I laid my head on his shirt-covered chest. He and I watched our hands as he played with my fingers, his voice soothing as he told me a story his aunt used to recite when it rained. It grew late – or, rather, early. He needed to return to the Gallows and rest, at least for the few hours he had left before his day began. Sad to see him go but knowing this would not be the last night I spent in his presence, I walked him to the door. The rain had not ceased; in fact, the storm had strengthened. I opened the door to let him leave. Before he did so, he stole a kiss.

"...Hawke?"

I turned sharply from Cullen to see a sodden Anders three paces off. Cullen looked...confused.

"I...should go," both men said at the same time. Cullen, who had already been preparing to leave, gave me one last, long look before he bowed his head and crossed the threshold. He looked back over his shoulder as he walked quickly through the rain. Anders, thankfully, kept Justice at bay as I gestured him inside.

"Don't be an oaf, it's pouring. Obviously you wanted to talk, so come in before you catch your death."

"I should just-"

"Shut up and get inside, Anders."

Cullen disappeared in the darkness and Anders begrudgingly entered my home, dripping on the foyer floor.

"Bodahn is sleeping. Let me find you a towel before you soak through." I turned away, walking into the main hall of the house. I could hear his footsteps sloshing behind me. I climbed the stairs and scrounged a towel from the linen closet, showing him to my room. I closed the door over a little and leaned against the wall outside. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Anders?"

He was quiet for a long time, aside from the occasional grunt as he dried himself off.

"There's a tunic that should suit you in the wardrobe, we'll hang your things up to dry a bit before you leave."

"I shouldn't stay-"

"Would you stop your nonsense? You're staying until I let you go, is that clear?" I laughed a little as he pulled open the door, rubbing his hair with the towel. The tunic was a little tighter on him than I'd thought, but it fit across his shoulders. There was no way it would have fit Cullen.

His smile was a little lopsided as he handed me the towel. I put it away before going in to collect his pile of dampened robes. "You should put your shoes by the fire, too. We'll have you right as...sunshine? in no time at all."

With everything sorted, I tugged him into the library and moved two chairs to settle in front of the fireplace there. Turning to look at him and folding my legs beneath me, I raised an eyebrow.

"Like I said earlier, what's got you all the way out here at this time of night?"

His face held a concentrated look, though he was certainly staring at the wall behind my head. He was avoiding answering my question. I wondered what he thought would happen when he showed up. "Or did you not expect to see me up?"

Reluctantly, he nodded a little. "I come out sometimes, when I can't sleep. I...I worry about you, Hawke."

I had known Anders had a vague interest in me – or had suspected it, at least. The smiles, the jokes, the vague flirtation. But he always back-peddled so quickly, it sent me reeling. I never knew where I stood with him. I knew he worried because of Carver's death and Bethany's...move, but I knew that wasn't enough to keep him haunting my front door.

"...Are you...seeing...the templar?" he asked without warning, his voice quiet but intent.

I frowned. I supposed I was. He had mentioned courting, hadn't he? I lifted and lowered my shoulders in a shrug. "I couldn't honestly tell you, Anders. I very much enjoy his company and, from what I gather, he enjoys mine."

"But your sister-"

"Trust me, I know." My frown remained. I turned to look into the flames, thinking of Bethany and what a relationship with Cullen would mean. The second it became public (if it did), scrutiny on his interactions with my sister would increase tenfold. He would no longer be able to watch over her for me and I would lose that connection, one more thing for which Bethany would hate me. "It doesn't much matter, really. It can't ever be anything serious. I know that."

I don't think he was convinced. Mostly because I knew I wasn't.


	5. Day

It was my birthday.

We had never done much celebrating back in Lothering – a few scant gifts, mostly homemade, and a cake. It was simple and nice. Easy.

Varric would have none of that. He absolutely insisted that there be a party of sorts. Drinking, in the least. Music as well. And so, I was drug along to the Hanged Man after a long day of traipsing across the countryside and pushed up the stairs to the rooms he rented. (I always wondered how he paid for them but never got around to asking. Wasn't my business, curious or not.)

"Close your eyes, Hawke," he said from behind me before we reached the door. I did so and felt his hand on my back to push me along. The door opened. In I stepped.

A chorus of 'happy birthday' erupted, to which I opened my eyes. Everyone was there, even Fenris (which greatly surprised me, as we rarely saw eye-to-eye) and Sebastian, who rarely (if ever, when I had a say in it) joined us at the pub.

And Cullen.

My eyes widened and I turned to look at the dwarf. He grinned but said not a word.

Anders stood off a little, leaning himself against a wall. He occasionally eyed the templar but made no other real show of disapproval, for which I was immensely grateful. Merrill seemed to take no notice of him – Isabela, however, was very much so taking notice. Every inch of him. Then, of course, she turned her gaze to me. There was something scant and burgundy draped over her arm.

I didn't want to know but I was pretty certain I did.

"Come on, then, love. We've got a party to dress for." Isabela curled her arm around my waist and turned towards a door that led deeper into Varric's suite.

I did notice then, as she pulled me into the room in which Varric bathed, that everyone was wearing something a bit fancier than their normal garb. Nothing for a ball, but...nicer. Most notable was Cullen's sleek, dark tunic. It was most noticeable, perhaps, because he was the one I most wished to see. I don't mean to minimize my appreciation for my companions nor do I mean to say that they didn't all look quite lovely cleaned up as they were. But it was Cullen, with his incredible chest I remembered so vividly. And his hair, brilliant against the backdrop of his dark clothes.

Isabela noticed too. "That templar of yours..."

"He's not really mine," I responded as she more or less tore off my clothes. She whistled as I was stripped to my breastband and underthings, throwing the dress over my head. "Where did you get this, the Blooming Rose?"

"I'll never tell," she responded with a smirk, tugging my hair down and jerking me over to the mirror. She sat me with my back to it and began to apply cosmetics. They must have been from the Rose – unless, of course, she had nicked them from an Orlesian or an Antivan. The Kirkwall gentry didn't seem to pay much mind to make-up, though I was sure more than one of them had a stash. I cringed to think whom she had gotten it from. Stolen. Borrowed. Whatever. However she had gotten it, it was now on my face and a dress that could not be worn in polite company (I would not be venturing downstairs any time soon, to be sure) was clinging to my body.

"All done!" she said after a few moments and stood me up, turning me about to look in the mirror. I gasped. I could hardly recognize myself. I was still no beauty, certainly. But at least I looked like a woman, if an easy one.

"Happy birthday, Hawke."

I smiled at her warmly – we weren't the hugging sort, mostly because I rarely could think of how to react to her roaming hands. And two rogues expected a stab in the back at any moment, despite the amount of time we spent in each other's company. She clasped my shoulder before she spun me about gently, facing the door. I heard the music playing quietly before we opened the door to return to the group.

I was greeted by gasps and wide-eyes all around. Merrill grin, Sebastian blushed. Fenris made an odd noise low in his throat and straightened his spine while Anders was, very pointedly, watching Cullen. Who was, very openly, watching me.

"Rivaini, I didn't know you had it in you!" Varric laughed, offering a mug of ale in salute.

"More to the point, we didn't know she had it in her," Isabela responded with a snort and I shot her a playful glare. Sebastian was strumming a lute in the corner apparently over his moment of lechery, Aveline humming the tune quietly as her smile remained. Cullen tapped his foot a little. His eyes never left me.

Neither did Anders', once they left Cullen.

"Time to drink up, birthday girl," Varric suggested, gesturing to the assorted beverages (Aveline, Varric, and Fenris) on the table. They were paired with a lopsided cake (Merrill) and a small, white statue of Andraste (bet you can't guess). There was a small wrapped present (Bethany, via Cullen) and Anders rolled something around in his hands before slipping it into the darkness of a pocket.

"I hope you like the cake," Merrill chirped, toying with her own fingers as she moved over to join me at the side of the table. "Bodahn helped me. I've never made one before."

"I'm sure it's delicious," I smiled at her, picking up a bottle of wine (most definitely Fenris) and uncorking it before pouring a large glass. I offered her one, which she took. After pouring drinks for everyone (except for Sebastian. Even Anders took a mug.), I procured one for myself.

After a short while, a few musicians appeared and one took up the lute that Sebastian had been playing around with. The drinks flowed, cake was eaten (not too shabby, actually), and conversation was had. There was laughter as stories were told and, despite my original fear upon seeing Cullen sitting in the room, there was little tension. Aside from Anders, though he did seem to be trying.

With a lively tune being played, I couldn't very well deny Isabela's suggestion to dance. It was an old Ferelden familiar to which she barely knew the steps. Cullen had a much better idea and, asking if it was all right to cut in (to which Isabela replied something like, "Oh, but can't I join?"), his hand slid across my lower back. My body reacted immediately and the dance became more intense, at least in my mind. Merrill danced by herself, Isabela as well. Fenris stood against a wall, an odd sort of sneer on his face. Anders' face grew more dejected with every passing beat. Aveline was swaying gently and Varric was tapping his foot. The song ended and I saw Varric wave his hand, motioning to the minstrels.

Another song began. It was familiar – a tune played at almost every holiday celebration in Ferelden. The sort of dance that belonged only to couples. Isabela stole Merrill into a dip. Varric waggled his eyebrows at Aveline, who snorted but very surprisingly took him up on his offer. They looked ridiculous but also like they were enjoying themselves, despite the guard-captain's generally stoic personality. Aside from Fenris, Anders, and Sebastian everyone seemed to be very openly enjoying themselves.

Cullen pulled me closer.

It did not take long before I was lost; to the alcohol, the music, and Cullen's warmth I was no match. At a particularly close moment in the dance routine, Cullen bent his mouth to my ear.

"Happy birthday," he murmured. I melted. It was not the words, but the tone. His lips pressed to my cheek and I thought stars were exploding in my vision. I stumbled a little.

The whole room shook. I was not the only one to falter. The music stopped abruptly. Somewhere in the room, glass shattered against the floor. Merrill was on the ground atop Isabela. Aveline was gripping her sword.

Anders stood in the glow of Justice. Cullen's face was full of terror and rage.

Before I could think, I stepped around Cullen to stand between the two men. "Anders. Anders."

Please don't let him say anything.

The blue glow faded as quickly as it had come. Anders drooped, shoulders leaning back against the wall behind him. His breathing ragged, he looked up. Fear was written all across his face as his eyes alighted on the man behind me. Varric and Sebastian were helping Isabela and Merrill to stand. I turned, a hand on Cullen's chest.

"What-"

"It's no matter," I breathed, glancing nervous over my shoulder to Anders. He hadn't moved.

"Is he-"

"No," I shook my head, not entirely sure what I was denying but knowing I had to.

"What just-"

"Trick of the-"

"Marion."

"Let's just go," I frowned, glancing around at my friends.

Varric made a face but shrugged. "The musicians are paid up til sunrise. There're still drinks to be drunk. Everyone should stay." He surveyed the room with a grimace.

"I think it's best if we leave. Mother will want to see me like this," I laughed a little before smiling apologetically. "I'll pay for everything, don't worry."

The look on his face and the tone in his voice chilled me. "That's exactly why I do, Hawke."

Cullen and I walked from Lowtown to Hightown in silence. Once we reached my front door, he turned me to face him. Upon seeing the look he held, I wished we had stayed. Perhaps more alcohol would have done him good.

"Tell me the truth, Hawke. What happened with Anders?"

"I honestly don't know. It was probably one of Varric's party tricks gone wrong." I was lying. I think he knew I was lying.

"Then why did you offer to pay for it?" He wasn't convinced.

"Because it was my fault? My birthday party and all. Anders is famous for mucking things up like that, it's a wonder we all have our eyebrows."

He had to have sensed the magic, both from Merrill and from Anders even before Justice's debut. This meant, of course, that he knew I was lying. And I knew that he knew.

The silence between us was a terrifying one. His eyes didn't waver from mine for what seemed like hours. Finally, he grazed my cheek gently with his fingertips. "I'm sorry we had to leave and miss the rest of your party."

He was dropping it. I tried not to think about it. He wouldn't betray me like that – he wouldn't seek out Anders? No. Not Cullen. Another man, maybe. But not the sweet, light-haired man that held my face in his hands so tenderly.

We spent the evening as we spent many others – talking of anything but mages. We were, perhaps, a little more subdued than normal. Until, however, Cullen rose to leave.

"I never gave you your gift," he startled a little, reaching into his jacket that he had tossed aside. "I'm afraid I left what Bethany sent with me at the inn."

"I'm sure Varric will bring it with him when we see each other again," I shrugged, unconcerned. I was a little more focused on the long, sleek wooden box that he now held in his hands. It was a little larger than I had thought at first. It appeared he had wrapped it in his jacket rather than hidden it in the pocket. He offered it to me and I took it without hesitation.

It was, perhaps, more magnificent than anything I had ever received. This is not to devalue the presents of years past or of my other companions from earlier that night. Merely exemplify the gift from Cullen.

It was a smaller dagger than I normally wore, though I knew that he was aware of exactly which holster it would fit into. It was sleek and graceful, simple with a braided hilt and a little silver adornment. The sheath itself was a soft leather exterior with a plate that read: 'dareth emma lath'. More elvish, I assumed. I traced my fingertips over the engraving. It didn't even matter that I had no idea what it said (knowing 'spirit' was a fluke, something I'd picked up from the Keeper when we aided Feynriel some months ago.) because I could feel what it meant. Setting the case down on my desk, I removed the dagger so that I might pull off the sheath. The blade was magnificent. Well-crafted, balanced, solid as anything. Making sure to set it down carefully, I flung my arms around Cullen's shoulder.

"It's perfect! Thank you so much," I turned my head to kiss his cheek and found that his lips greeted mine instead. Not one to complain at good fortune, I allowed us to lose ourselves and grow distracted from Cullen's impending departure. In fact, so intent on avoiding it were we that more clothing than ever before was shed and strewn across my floor.

When one of us (I honestly can't remember which) finally had the presence of mind to pull back, we were all but bare, my back against yet another stone wall. My feet were nowhere near the floor (how that happened, I have no idea) and Cullen held me close with his hands on my rear. I looked up at him, our chests pressed together with each ragged breath, and he smiled down at me.

"You should find out what your present says," he murmured, leaning down to kiss my forehead. We did not part yet, though I dropped my feet and his hands moved up. "And no cheating and asking your Dalish friend."

"Of course not...though I could probably get it out of you," I grinned, stealing his mouth for further kissing before he had the chance to respond. He reacted rather forcefully, keeping me pinned against the wall. With our passion rekindled, it was some time before we surfaced again to speak.

"I will, perhaps, tell you someday. But today is not that day..." He smiled for a long while as he looked at me, a hand moving to brush my hair back over my shoulder. His thumb gently stroked my cheek as he glanced over to the window. The sun was rising. His face fell and he leaned down to kiss me one last time, one dizzying with its intensity. "I wish that I could stay, sweetheart. But today is not the day."

I couldn't hold back the discontented sigh as he pulled himself slowly from me to find his clothes once more. I opted for my robe and closed the lid on my dagger before walking him to the door. We stood in the archway for several moments, embracing as if it would be the last time simply because we could. With a final kiss, he took off at a run for the Gallows. If Meredith caught him, it very well could have been the last.

Without much warning, I was rather exhausted. With a yawn that left my mouth wide which I chose not to cover, I closed the front door and returned to my room to sleep the away the day.

But I was interrupted by a ruckus before my eyes had even closed, in fact before my bedroom door had.

"Hawwwkeee," Isabela called, chorused by two male voices and two more female.

"Hawke, the party isn't over. Come down here, the minstrels have gone. It'll just be us, drinking merrily on and on."

"Oh, fine," I huffed, joking, as I appeared at the top of the stairs in trousers and a tunic, the plush fabric of the clothes my mother had once insisted I wear "in polite company" if she couldn't convince me into a dress. I promised myself I would wear dresses more often, too. I had been trying to keep up the appearances of money, as we had it, for my mother. She liked Cullen, quite a lot, but made sure that I knew he would do better with me if I was more womanly – in the kindest way possible, of course.

I joined my friends and moved everyone to the library. "Hold on, there's some ale in the kitchen, I think," I moved from the library to find the door to the kitchen. Varric had brought what he could from the Hanged Man, including Bethany's forgotten gift, and the others started in what was left to drink while I searched out more.

The sound of the door opening distracted me from my search and I shut a cupboard over a little so that I could see who had followed me.

Varric.

Thank the Maker, I had half-expected it to be Anders, appearing out of nowhere.

I smiled at him as best as I could before I put myself back to the task of finding alcohol. "Come to help me? I haven't tried the far ones yet."

Varric moved over to the wall that I suggested and began to talk in his low, jovial voice, "Did the Templar have fun?"

"I think so," I murmured, feeling like my blush was obvious in my voice.

"He's a good man, I think," the dwarf offered before say "Aha!" as he opened the cupboard that held our stash.

"I'm glad you're more observant than I am," I laughed and moved over to help him grab as many bottles as we could. "I think so too, Varric."

"I just…" he started but stopped his frown by grinning, "Never mind. You don't need to hear this from me tonight."

I felt like I could cry, so thankful was I that he decided to leave it all alone, just for that night. "Thanks, Varric."

"For what?"

"Everything," I elbowed him gently in the shoulder as we approached the door to the library. "Just…everything."

"Of course, Hawke. Anything and everything," his beardless face was all smiles as we joined our friends again.

It was Fenris, Varric, Merrill, Aveline, Isabela and I for the rest of the night. Sebastian had begged off before they left and Anders had all but disappeared immediately following my original exit. I can't say I was sad for the loss of it. I didn't want to deal with any apologies or party-poopers. I wanted to enjoy the night with my friends, without the drama of whatever was going on in Anders' head.

We talked, we drank, we danced without music. Fenris seemed to loosen up a little, enough to turn me about in a spin which ended up with us on the floor, practically on top of each other, and laughing rather hysterically in a drunken fit. It was very uncharacteristic for him, but a welcome (if brief) change of pace.

Eventually, Aveline was standing beside me as we settled by the fireplace and looked out across the room. Varric was trying to explain something to both Fenris and Merrill, while Isabela was trying desperately to convince a bookshelf into dancing with her.

"Happy birthday, Hawke. I'm glad...I'm glad I'm here to share it with you."

"Hell, I'm glad I'm here," I responded, and we both laughed.

"Truth be told, I'm a little surprised."

"What do you mean?"

"By everything. We beat all the odds, Hawke, and we're doing all right."

"You know what Aveline? You're right. We're pretty incredible."

"Hawke?"

"Yes, Aveline?"

And in a fluid moment, Aveline had be wrapped in a gentle, if awkward hug.

"Thank you."

"...Of course," I responded, patting her on the back as we pulled away from each other. "Although I don't know what for."

"Everything," she mirrored what I had said earlier.

"Any time," I grinned, touching her shoulder lightly. She smiled back at me before she was jerked away by a very insistent Isabela, which left me laughing.

I was able, for the night, to forget everything that I wanted to and just be.

Unfortunately, those types of nights have to end sometime.


	6. Blood

I had little to no knowledge of the Fade as I stood before Keeper Marathari in the home of Feynriel's mother. I had asked Varric, Aveline, and Merrill along. I hadn't spoken to Anders since my botched birthday party (his part in which everyone seemed to pointedly avoid commenting on, which made it all the more noticeable) and did not think I wanted Justice anywhere near another mage. Cullen hadn't brought the subject up again and, to my knowledge, Anders had not been abducted and whisked away to the Circle. Yet. Thank the Maker for small favors. Who knows what Vengeance would have unleashed if that happened.

Varric seemed a bit nervous at the prospect of entering the Fade. Aveline did too, though in a much more subtle way. Merrill was excited – thrilled at the idea of experiencing something so very Elvhen.

I went alone.

Keeper Marathari charged me with killing the boy, if it came to that. She warned of demons, of tricks. I put my friends in enough mortal danger; I did not need to worry about their spirits as well.

If a mage died in the Fade, he or she would become Tranquil. What did that mean for a non-mage?

I didn't want to find out.

Merrill was, to put it lightly, furious. I tried to explain to her that spending time with the Keeper when she cast the spell would be more beneficial to her than traipsing about the Fade with me. She spent most of her time sleeping there, it wasn't going to be much anything new. Varric had never been and, though he said he would go if I asked, I don't think he had much desire to change that. Aveline said little as to the subject of going, vaguely discontent at the idea but not denying me outright. There wasn't time for me to ask anyone else and, to be honest, I didn't want to. I didn't relish the idea of a friend, or even an occasionally disagreeable companion, being forced to do what I was about to.

My first test was Torpor. I knew enough of demons from my father's teachings to Bethany, let alone Anders and Merrill, that I immediately dismissed his suggestion. He didn't like that very much.

With a heaving breath, I looked around me. It was the entrance to the Gallows. Rather fitting. To either side of me was a staircase. I chose one.

Upon opening the door, I was cast into a haze. Stepping further into the room, I saw a young straw-haired boy that much resembled Feynriel. A younger Vincento stood over him and I, looking down, saw that I looked the spitting image of Arianni.

Vincento spoke to Feynriel of things that sounded nothing like what the man I had met in Lowtown might say. I made a face with Arianni's mouth and stepped forward.

"Mother?" Feynriel queried. "May I go with Father?"

Vincento's head snapped to me, though he spoke to the boy. "You don't have to listen to your mother, Feynriel. Just come with me."

He looked put out and confused as his eyes wavered on me. He turned briefly back to Vincento, shaking his head. "But Mother wouldn't want to be alone all that time. I can't leave her like..."

I waited a moment – I knew that he could see it. Suddenly, it dawned on him and he stood back, knocking the chair over. The spell was broken with his recognition and in the place of Vincento stood the lusty, discolored body of a horned desire demon.

"I just wanted to play with him a little while," she cooed with a frown as Feynriel, the adult version, backed away. I drew my daggers, now visible with the façade broken, but stood my ground. "You, though – you have desires too, do you not?"

It felt as though it had knocked the wind out of me with those words and, without realizing it, my feet began to move forward. I looked down to make sure that they were, in fact, my feet and when next I straightened my head, Cullen stood in front of me in plainclothes.

"My love," he smiled, extending a hand to me. My heart thudded in my chest and my hand lifted. It was heavier than it should have been and I turned my eyes to see what was weighing it down.

My dagger. Why did I have my dagger in my hand, standing in front of Cullen? I rarely wore them around him at all. It struck me then and I remembered where I was, what I was doing.

"Demon!" I spat, taking a step back and shaking my head to clear the fog that Caress had created. "I want nothing from you. Anything I am to have in life I will find on my own."

"Now, that's not very nice," she hissed, rearing a hand back as a ball of energy formed in her palm. I dodged a hit to the stomach but I felt the burn as it singed passed my leg.

The battle was arduous, more so than the one with Torpor. That was, perhaps, because occasionally Cullen would flash in front of me. At first, I could not hit the demon in his form but I soon acknowledged that it was not my templar but my torment.

Feynriel was nowhere to be seen.

After tossing back a healing potion (one of the few I had been granted in the Fade, thanks to the Keeper), I ventured back down the stairs and across the expanse of stones. I heard a humming sound that grew louder as I approached.

Again, once I opened the door my vision was obscured. When it cleared, I was standing before Feynriel as he was and Keeper Marethari. Looking down at myself, I noted mage robes, fancy ones.

Marethari spoke of Feynriel's accomplishments, heralding him as a member of the Dalish and a compliment to his kind.

"Certainly you are a bright boy," I started – the voice was that of an old man. I could not directly place it. "but do you know all that you might? I would imagine that both the Keeper and I could teach you much more."

"Don't listen to him, Feynriel. You are far more powerful than he is!"

The blond half-elf looked from me to Marethari and back again. "More powerful than a First Enchanter? Keeper, I don't-" Feynriel stopped, stepping back. Again, the spell was broken.

What a smart boy. I couldn't help but smile a little, even as Marethari increased in size three times over and grew claws that looked like small swords.

"Foolish mortal," Wryme laughed, its over-sized head dropping back as it did so.

Without warning, my vision went dark. Just as quickly as the black came, it went. Before me stood my father, his smile bright and wide. He wore decadent mage robes. My mother beside him was dressed in a beautiful gown, Bethany similarly. Even Carver, in a shining suit of armor, wore a small smile.

"I am so proud of you, my girl," my father's voice found my ears and a smile grew on my lips. I felt warmth at my side and turned to see Cullen in profile. He too wore armor, polished to perfection. He wore no gauntlets. On his left hand, a ring glittered. "To have found such a man! And I'll be soon to have a grandchild..."

At first, I looked to Bethany's belly. Nothing was there. Next, I looked down. Cullen's right hand was curved over a slight protrusion beneath my dress. A child. A line of known mages combining with a templar. Was the world so righted?

"It'd be best if he looks nothing like you," Carver snorted. We laughed, but it felt wrong.

"What a joyous Wintersend!" my father clapped.

Malcolm Hawke had, for as long as I could remember, hated Wintersend.

Gone was my happy family, gone was the husband and gone was the bump on my belly.

I stumbled for the loss of it, searching out the form of Wryme.

To give me such and have it be a lie...

I said no words as I rushed him. My anger fueled me. It was no replacement for an extra blade or a rain of arrows, but I only nearly almost died.

It was a rather long time before I pulled myself together enough to find my way to the flagstone entryway again. A slithering body of what looked to be molten lava writhed towards me. I cursed and cursed as I sidestepped, swiped, rolled, and stabbed. My armor was in tatters, my blades in need of repair. I reminded myself not to do this again anytime soon.

With my daggers sheathed, I bent at the waist with my hands on my knees and took in great gulps of air.

In what seemed like no time, I heard another voice.

"Is it over?"

Straightening despite my screaming muscles, I took in the sight of Feynriel. I am unsure how, but I knew for certain that it was him.

"Aye, boy, I believe so," I murmured. "You did very well. Perhaps better than I did."

"It doesn't matter, though, Hawke. The Keeper said I'm something different, someone that can control the Fade. What happens if...I can't stop one of them? What if-"

"Feynriel, listen to me," taking a step forward, I put a hand on his shoulder. "You were brilliant."

"You have to kill me." His face was stone.

With one hand on either of his shoulders, I bade him look at me. "No, Feynriel. You have been given a great gift, one that only the Maker knows the meaning of. To waste such a gift would be to spit in His face. You are a strong young man and I know that, given the right opportunity, you will accomplish great things. Do you understand me?"

He was quiet for a moment before: "Where can I go? The Keeper said that she has little more to teach me and the Circle here will just-"

"Tevinter," I blurted without thinking. "The mages there are free to practice magic and it is where most of the knowledge is stored. If you are going to find a proficient teacher, I imagine that would be the place to go."

His face betrayed his disapproval.

"If you can recognize two demons, I hold every certainty that you will survive Tevinter. But you must promise me two things, Feynriel." I folded my arms across my chest as he inquired as to what, to which I responded: "Come back. For your mother. Do you understand? And under absolutely no circumstances will you practice blood magic. Is that clear? There is no reason and no one has the right to harm another being to gain power. I will not hesitate the next time, if you do. Understand?"

He looked at me for a long time before nodding slowly. I smiled broadly and clasped him on the shoulder one last time. "Go then, Feynriel."

"Tell my mother where I've gone and that I'll write, would you?" Without a staff, Feynriel waved a hand. Something that could only be described as a floating, cloud-like door appeared before him. Magic swirled about it seamlessly and, with my agreeing nod, he stepped forward. To where, I only imagined.

I relayed Feynriel's message to his mother and told Marethari only what was necessary. She gifted me with a heavy tome and Arianni, for the help I had given, offered me a ring from her days among the Dalish. At first, I said I wouldn't take it. She wouldn't hear of it, however – she pressed the carved Ironbark into my hand with shining eyes.

"You've done more for my Feynriel since we've met than I have ever been able to. You've done it because of the goodness of your soul, serrah. Anyone with such a kindness in her heart deserves a reward of meaning, though if I had the coin I would give it to you just as quickly."

I hugged her then, without warning. There was something in her eyes that reminded me of my mother and I needed to reassure her that she was not wrong.

"He's a good boy, Arianni. He'll do well; he has a lot of potential and now he'll have the room to grow." She hugged me tighter for a long moment before our small group departed.

Merrill wouldn't stop pestering me about what had transpired in the Fade.

I was tired and I had no desire to reveal my innermost secrets.

"Feynriel acknowledged the demons. I fought them. Feynriel was very brave. He left for Tevinter through what I can only imagine was a portal of some sort. I do not know the details of where he went or how he managed to get there, but I am sure he is wherever he should be."

Merrill did not seem to be satisfied, nor did she seem to realize that I didn't want to speak on the subject any longer.

Eventually I could no longer take it. Instead of reacting how I wished, I did the only thing that I could think of. In my arms I held the tome from Marethari, in a pocket the ring bounced. At first I thought to give her the ring but my mind skipped to Cullen and his half-elf aunt.

I shoved the book from the Keeper into her arms as we approached her front door. "Here, Merrill."

Her eyes widened as she grasped it to her chest. "Really, Hawke?"

At least I had distracted her for the time being. I nodded to her and waved her into her home. "Go and read it, I can tell you're excited to. You'll just have to regale me with what knowledge is inside." I feigned a smile, which grew into a sincere one as I noted the look on her face. She bowed her head in thanks and disappeared inside the home she was allotted in the alienage.

"That should keep her busy for a while," Varric commented in his amiably sarcastic manner. We walked in silence for a few paces before he and Aveline began to talk about a group of thugs (assassins, more like) around which rumors had started circling in Hightown. I was thankful for their attempts to avoid any discussion of what had happened. The evening passed uneventfully with friends and ale at the Hanged Man.

When I returned home that evening, it was to find a note from the Templar that had led me to Feynriel all those months ago.

_Serrah Hawke,_

_I must commend you on what you have done to protect the boy. I should most likely not, considering my position. However, to know that there are people about such as you that strive to aid those in so dire a need of a friend calms my soul in times like these._

_I do not wish to burden you again, but I have heard of a group of similarly hindered individuals. There is a cave on the Wounded Coast, some three hundred paces off of the beach to the north side. I cannot reveal much more, but it may behoove you to investigate the goings on._

_In the Maker,_

_T._

I knew it was Thrask only because of his references to Feynriel and his disadvantageous position from which to help the boy.

A group of mages, in a cave on the Wounded Coast. This could not be good. I looked to the window, the warmth of the ale from my evening having dissipated. I was tired, body and soul. One night, however, could make all of the difference. If it would not, Thrask certainly would have waited to write me such a note. The urgency with which it was received caused me to question how much time the mages had left before they were found out. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, but that was not to be.

A surprisingly short time later, with Anders, Varric, and Aveline in tow (thankfully the Guard Captain had the evening off, or else I might have been forced to bring Fenris along) I arrived at the cave front that Thrask had indicated. He stood outside, which I had most definitely not expected.

"Serrah Hawke, I am certainly glad to see you."

My eyes were gritty with lack of sleep but I offered him a weak smile. "Thank you, Ser Thrask. What is it that I can do for you?"

"There is a group of mages, escaped from the Starkhaven Circle, within these caverns. It is of great fortune that you did not wait to come, for my templar brothers caught wind of this and are on their way."

My heart skipped a beat. "Do you know, is Knight-Captain Cullen among them?"

I heard Anders' derisive snort. We had not spoken since my birthday – he had been incredibly surprised at my appearance at his door. I thought, perhaps, having him on my side while trying to speak to a group of mages would be to my benefit. Now, I questioned my decision.

Thrask shook his head, "I do not believe so, Serrah. The men that are to come are...the unfriendly sort."

I frowned and rubbed my forehead. "What is it that you propose, Ser Thrask?"

"Speak to them. Explain that they must run."

A templar suggesting that apostates run? I nodded a little. "Why have you not approached them?"

"I do not think they would take kindly to my appearance," he gestured to the large templar crest on the front of his armor.

"Good point. We best make our way in, there's no telling when the others will arrive."

"I don't like this," Aveline muttered as we descended into the darkness of the cavern. Anders cast a spell that let our weapons glow, giving off enough light to make our path seen.

"Shhh," I breathed, distracted by a clattering noise. It didn't sound like armor, more like hollow stones. I let out a strangled cry when something thin gripped my ankle. Looking down, I saw long, yellowed fingers that had been stripped to the bone. A skeleton pulled itself from the ground. I swiped at it with my dagger, severing the hand at the wrist.

"Blood magic!" Anders spat, rearing back a spell to freeze the skeleton at my feet. More animated dead joined in their first fallen brethren. It was not long before the maleficar showed himself, blood dripping from his wrist.

Before I could make a suggestion to Varric amongst the swings of my dagger, he had loaded and shot Bianca. A bolt straight to the heart of the enemy mage was all it took. The skeletons dropped where they stood. I moved to stand over the attacker though he was silent.

"Good shot," I murmured to Varric, though I was slightly disappointed the dead man could not be questioned.

"I really don't like this," Aveline huffed, keeping her sword at the ready.

"It's a truly unfortunate thing when mages turn to blood magic because it is the only thing they think will save them," Anders commented from behind me. I shook my head, not wishing to start a fight.

"Let's just see what's going on here before we make any decisions, all right? I would like to save as many of them as possible."

Several minutes and quite a few more undead later, we came upon a young man as he flew from a stone doorway. Decimated skeletons lay about us and the dark-haired boy stopped short of my blade.

"Serrah! Oh, thank the Maker you're here. I told them not to, but they wouldn't listen."

"Calm down," I spoke quietly, trying to help him do just that. I sheathed my blades and settled my hands on my hips. "What's your name?"

"Alain, messere. I fled the Starkhaven Circle with a group led by a man named Decimus. It was not long before he...before some of them started practicing blood magic. Decimus said it was the only way – that they were already accusing us of being blood mages, so that it was our best weapon."

"A circular argument," Varric snorted. Anders looked more than slightly peeved, though I didn't know if it was at his fellow mages or at what Varric had said.

"There's a templar waiting out front, Alain. His name is Thrask. I suggest you go to him – he will take you to the Circle here in Kirkwall. I cannot promise you protection if you run."

With very adamant thanks, Alain took off towards the front of the cave.

"Can you really promise him protection at the Gallows, Hawke?"

"The templars won't kill him if he turns himself in," I remarked as we started tentatively in the direction the boy had come from.

"Is being made Tranquil much better?"

"We don't know that will happen, Anders. I trust that Thrask will try to avoid it – certainly Bethany will look out for him. If he is so adamantly opposed to the blood magic that these other mages are practicing, I imagine that he'll do well."

Anders grew tight-lipped and I groaned inwardly. It was a short time before he spoke of sensing magic, several mages practicing in one place. I could faintly see the glow as we approached along a rickety wooden pathway built on stilts. I signaled for the others to remain silent.

There was no good way to approach unseen so, instead, we came in with weapons held back. Anders walked beside me, Aveline in her guardsmen uniform hidden as well as possible.

It was unlike anything I had ever seen, the group of mages all huddled around a graying man, bent at the waist with his hands outstretched. A brilliant red glow circled them, something like what I had seen of the glyphs that my father had occasionally been known to teach Bethany. The hands that the man – Decimus, I assumed – had outstretched dripped blood, sometimes on the ground and sometimes on the heads of those that knelt before him.

We stood in silence, watching for some time, before one of the kneeling mages noticed us. "Intruders!" she shrilled and the old mage straightened, his arms dropping to his side.

"Come to take us to the Circle, have you?"

"No, we-"

"Silence, liar!"

"Decimus, that man – he's one of us," a dark-haired woman with a tattoo along the right side of her face reached out to touch his robes. He jerked back.

"A mage, perhaps, but not one of us! You will never take us!"

"We just-"

Before I could finish trying to calm him, he reared back with arms in the air. A dagger I had not noticed slid across one arm, creating a new wound. We were immediately overrun with another skeleton army. Several of the mages that had been gathered around Decimus joined him, though not all of them used blood magic. I prayed for another lucky shot from Varric, but to no avail. There were too many of them in the way. I moved immediately to engage the leader, hoping that would at least end the onslaught of the undead.

With the final blow dealt to Decimus, the skeletons collapsed on themselves and the remaining mages pulled back. The woman that had tried to speak to their leader dropped to her knees at his side.

"You killed him! You killed Decimus!"

"It was not my intention," I frowned, slipping my daggers back into their leather homes. "We came to warn you that there are templars coming."

"Decimus!" she cried, reaching a hand out to stroke his bearded cheek. "Oh Decimus, why did you not listen to me?"

After some time, the woman stood and brushed her hands on her robes. Blood streaked and dried there, the sight of which was unsettling.

"I am Grace," she spoke before nodding to the fallen man. "Decimus was our leader. After the fire in the Starkhaven Circle, he helped us to escape. It wasn't until Kirkwall that we realized we were being followed."

"I am sorry for you." I was – I could tell the man meant more to her than just a leader of a rebellion. I was not particularly sorry that he was dead, though he may have only been misguided. "But we have little time for pleasantries, Grace. The templars will soon be upon us and there is a decision to be made."

"There's a templar outside – if you kill him, we have a chance of getting away."

There was no hesitation in my response, "Absolutely not."

"What is one templar's life when there are so many mages that might be freed?" Anders questioned from my side. I shot him a scathing look. The last thing I needed was for him to diminish my authority.

"No," I finalized. "He is the reason we are here to help you. I will not kill him and I will cut down anyone that tries, is that understood?" Grace looked taken aback but she made no move to attack.

"What other option do we have? If we run, they will certainly catch us."

"Then don't."

Grace tensed.

An uproar among the other mages in her group amounted to, more or less, a resounding 'no'.

"Listen to me, would you? We are striving here in Kirkwall to better the Circle. It is not easy, but we have to start somewhere. My sister is a mage there, working to become a Senior Enchanter if I am correctly informed. She has already helped a young runaway to acclimate back into the fold. Your friend, Alain, has gone to Ser Thrask to be brought in. The Circle can be a safe haven if you let it, or a prison if you don't. I cannot promise you that every templar will be a good man or woman, but I do know of a few that are. Prove that you are responsible, Maker-fearing people and help us win the fight against the prejudice so wrongly heaped upon mages."

There was silence after I spoke and my eyes swept the faces of the apostates as well as my companions. Anders' face was a mixture of surprise and concern. Varric's held a look of shining approval, which Aveline mirrored. A few of the mages stepped closer, waiting to be led. I was saddened a little by this – no wonder it was so easy for Decimus to sway them to blood magic. They were scared children.

Grace watched me with scrutiny for a long moment. "If you tell them of the blood magic, they will certainly kill us or make us Tranquil."

"Telling them that would serve no purpose. If I hear that you have been caught practicing it, however, the templars will be the least of your worries."

Grace's face shifted from one emotion to the next though, finally, she nodded. "Perhaps it is for the best."

After a minimal amount of coercion on Varric's part, the templars (led by a ruddy man that made my hands itch for my daggers) less-than-politely showed the mages back to the Circle. Thrask thanked me for my help, though questioned my methods (which, I will openly admit, surprised me). It was another long few hours before we reached Kirkwall again.

Aveline and Varric left Anders and I quickly, much to my dismay. He insisted upon walking me home, citing my exhaustion as reason enough. I could not deny that, if forced to fight, I might make poor choices. So, begrudgingly, I kept his company.

As we came upon the front door of my estate, Anders stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

"Did you mean it, Hawke?"

"Do you mean about trying to make the Circle better? Of course I did. The only difference between a mage and a warrior is the weapon they use. People with swords go insane just like people with magic. There are only two choices: peace, or war. I, for one, am growing tired of fighting."

For a brief second I thought I saw a flash of the look that Cullen would sometimes give me, when I used to think he would kiss me but then he would start mumbling about his responsibilities. Anders nodded rather violently before muttering a hurried 'good night' and disappearing in the direction of Darktown.

I planned to sleep for days.


	7. Dinner

Cullen and I had settled into my library with glasses of wine and genial conversation.

He was regaling me with a particularly humorous tale of himself as a recruit which had me breaking into errant fits of laughter.

A knock on the door preceded Aveline's head.

"Hawke, I-" she stopped as her eyes alighted on Cullen, seated beside me. "Sorry, I'm interrupting."

"Oh, not at all," I stood, shuffling her over. Cullen had come to stand when the Guard Captain entered, as was his way. "We were just talking. What brings you out this evening?"

"There's something..." her eyes slid to Cullen. I frowned.

"Cullen, would you mind excusing us for a moment?"

"Not at all. There are plenty of books for me to browse. Take your time."

I had the sudden, irrepressible urge to kiss him and so, Aveline waiting, I moved to his side and pressed my lips to his cheek. He smiled at me and bade me give my attention to my friend.

I led Aveline to the front hall where she stopped and turned to look at me.

"I'm sorry to barge in on you like this, Hawke, but...do you remember that templar, Emeric?"

"Maker, what is it with these templars?" I laughed but nodded. It had been a few weeks since the episode on the cliffs. "The man that was trying to find Ninette? What of him?" I now understood why we had needed to leave Cullen behind. I tried to keep him far removed from my dealings. It was easier for him to live in ignorance, especially when it came to templars and mages, which it always seemed to do.

"He's playing at detective and I can't handle anymore. He's obsessed with a theory about Gascard DuPuis. He came to me and insisted that I investigate. I brought a whole square with me and there wasn't anything at all. I've bee kissing ass for weeks now."

"So, if he's wrong, what is it that you want me to do?" I tried to swallow my laughter because I knew that she didn't find it funny, despite how obviously amusing the blunder was.

"Talk to him. Try to convince him out of this wild nug-chase or look into DuPuis again. I don't care what you do as long as it gets him off my back. Try not to kill him though." At her last statement, she cracked a smile and my laughter slipped out.

"Thanks, Aveline. Always giving me the hard work," I snorted.

She responded in kind and shook her head as she made to leave. "Thanks, Hawke. I can always count on you."

I waved her off, "One of these days you'll start paying me, right?"

This time, she laughed.

When I returned to the library, Cullen was seated where he had been before Aveline had arrived. He was not, however, reading.

The look on his face betrayed that he had heard at least enough to be concerned. I cursed our loud voices.

"Marion, I-"

I shook my head, "Don't worry. She was joking. I'll talk to him and maybe invite myself to the DuPuis' estate for dinner. Better to assuage his fears than let him do something irrational."

Cullen chuckled a little, catching my hand as I drew closer and pulled me into his lap. His arms wrapped around my middle and I relaxed into him as he spoke. "I was going to say that I want you to be careful. I've heard some of what Emeric has been saying and if he's even sort of right about DuPuis, he might be dangerous. Promise me you won't get alone, if you do go."

"Of course I wouldn't go alone," I smiled, closing my eyes as I settled against him. "I promise."

I lied.

I met with Emeric the following morning to discover that he thought DuPuis was a blood mage. The thought, perhaps, colored my decision to try my hardest to discover the truth. I refused the Templar's offer of assistance and, instead, enlisted my mother.

I asked her, dancing around my reasons, to address the DuPuis man and request that he invite me for dinner. She met with him in our parlor when I was not home and he, very adamantly, agreed. I was to dine with him the next evening.

Of course, I had to dress the part. This left little opportunity for weaponry, though I was thankfully able to hide Cullen's birthday gift on me even if it wasn't conveniently located. It would be easy enough to reach, should the evening warrant it.

I was a little concerned at my lack of preparation and secretly – desperately – hoped that Emeric was wrong.

The dinner was bearable – the food itself was not bad, though the company could have been better. It was no wonder that DuPuis was a bachelor.

We had retired to his library for drinks and conversation, at which point I excused myself to use the restroom. He looked a little harried at the suggestion but could not, conceivably, deny my request. He led me to the door and I waited until I heard his footsteps leaving before I began my search.

Not knowing where he had gone or how long it was until he came back, I managed to sneak myself out of the bathroom and into the hall. With no former knowledge of his home, I began a cursory search of whatever I could find.

Ducking into the closest room, I discovered that it was something like a study. As quietly as I could, I made my way to the desk and searched through the papers – one of which was a letter denying him information on the escaped Starkhaven mages, as he had no relation or connection to any of them. At first, why he would inquire after them was a mystery. It took me only a moment to remember Decimus, a practiced blood mage. My skin crawled. Finding my hidden sheath, I removed the dagger Cullen had given to me. I did not want to fight him but I could not continue unarmed. I slid the dagger into the long sleeve of my gown, praying it would stay put as I continued to search the estate.

I began to make my way back to the library and, as I passed through a hallway he had not taken me through, I heard some sort of scrabbling noise. I froze immediately, moving as well into the shadows as I could manage.

A muffled scream. A male voice, what I thought to be Gascard's.

Taking a deep breath, I tested the handle. It was unlocked. I pushed in.

On the floor before a very hassled-looking Gascard was a woman, perhaps ten years younger than my mother. Her blonde hair was matted and though she was dressed in finery, her clothes were dirty and a bit tattered.

"Marion!" Gascard exclaimed, stepping back a little. "This isn't-"

"Oh, please, messere, help me!" the woman cried from her knees and Gascard looked abashed.

"This isn't what it looks like?" I echoed the phrase Gascard had been meaning to say and he nodded vehemently. "Well, that's good because what it looks like is that you've kidnapped this woman."

"He hurt me," she whimpered, eyes wild.

I positioned my hand to remove the dagger, but kept it hidden. Raising an eyebrow, I looked at Gascard. "What's your explanation for that, then?"

"You weren't here for dinner, were you?" he asked meekly. I snorted. "You're here because of that templar, aren't you? The one that thinks I've been murdering those women?" I nodded. "That man murdered my sister years ago. I moved here to find him. He sends the women white lilies before he takes them - my sister got them, I found them when I came looking for her, rotting on her desk. I believe that Alessa was his next victim, she received some as well, so I took her to keep her from him."

"What of hurting her, Gascard?" I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. He sounded sincere but something was...off. I wished Aveline was there so that she might arrest him for kidnapping. I had no pull, but I wanted him gone. I couldn't rightfully kill him for being a creep but I did not want to leave him free.

"It...I took some of her blood, so that I might be able to find her if he did take her."

"Blood magic, then?" I asked, frowning. I prayed to the Maker that he did not decide to attack me. One man, I could take. Perhaps even three. A mage and however many demons he unleashed, however, and I had very little chance with my small dagger.

"It was only to avenge my sister."

"You," I looked to the woman, "Go. Go home, please." If he was going to attack me, the least I could do was let her get away. Or try. "And you," I turned back to Gascard as Alessa stood and, with a backwards look that spoke volumes of fear, took off through the door. "...you are lucky I cannot arrest you. Whatever your intention, what you did was wrong. Blood magic is wrong. However..." Now that I knew he knew of the murderer, perhaps he could help. "What have you found out?"

I realized in that moment, as he formed a sentence, that he could not kill me. My mother knew where I was, which meant the Guard Captain would too. That meant that if I did not return home at the predetermined time, Aveline would be knocking down his door. With this knowledge, I felt safe to handle my dagger. His eyes widened when he saw it and he backed away a little more.

"N-not much. I will tell you...if...I find out more."

I wanted to stick him. He was lying and I could feel it. I felt sick.

"You will stay in this room until I leave, do you understand? Furthermore, none of this is to be mentioned to anyone. Dinner was lovely but we are improperly suited." The command in my voice surprised even me.

"But...but Alessa, she might-"

"I doubt she will do much of anything, Gascard." _And if she does, you deserve it._

He seemed dissatisfied with my response but merely stood back as I made my way, still facing him, to the door. I closed it behind me, watching him the whole while. I waited a moment outside, expecting demons to appear around me. I let out a relieved breath when it did not happen. For good measure, I lifted my leg and kicked the doorknob down. I heard him yell from inside the room, more surprised than anything, and then I turned. As I made my way out of the house, another letter caught my eye. This one spoke of a shipment and payment. My stomach turned again and, once I had safely made my way into the street, I resolved to find out the truth.


	8. Wall

I went to meet Emeric the next evening, with Aveline and Varric beside me. At his normal post stood a young woman with an atrocious haircut (not that I was one to talk, really). She introduced herself as Moira and asked me, politely, what in Thedas I was doing there. I explained that I had come to speak to Emeric, to which she replied he was off to meet a Serrah Hawke.

 _I_ was Serrah Hawke.

"Smells like a trap," Varric frowned and, of course, we went. Moira told us where Emeric and gone and we moved as fast as we could throughout the city. It was night by the time we reached the alley, though the darkness did not hide the Shades. Or the dead body of the templar.

I cursed Gascard, knowing full well that he had to have had something to do with this. Emeric was beyond saving and I knew it, but it didn't stop me from kneeling at his side when we had finished battling the demons.

Moira came upon us as I knelt beside her fallen comrade.

"What...What happened?"

"Blood magic," I spat, reaching down to close Emeric's eyelids. There was nothing left to see for the poor man.

"How do you know?"

"...It's a long story. Gascard DuPuis, though, is the man I believe is responsible for this."

"Are you certain?"

Aveline spoke up, "Emeric had me look into DuPuis. My guards and I could not find anything, but Hawke was able to upon a second search. He told her he used blood magic of his own volition. We need little more proof."

"Guard Captain, I would like you to put out a warrant for DuPuis," Moira spoke, her voice shaking just a little. Her eyes never left the body of Emeric.

"It is already done," Aveline responded resolutely, making to leave to do as Moira suggested. The templar looked at me and I nodded as she came over, lifting the shoulders of Emeric as I moved to grab his feet. Varric followed, making sure that no one came upon us as we carried the body of a good man to the Chantry.

After releasing Emeric – literally – into the hands of the templars, Varric and I stood a while in the darkness outside of the Chantry. Leaning against the stone wall that made up the the building's façade, I turned my head to look at my companion.

"Varric, is it my fault?"

He blinked at me and turned, breaking away from the wall. "What are you talking about, Hawke? Did you kill him when I wasn't looking?"

I snorted, shaking my head. "Of course not. I just mean...I could have saved him, I think. I could have killed DuPuis last night and I didn't, and now Emeric is dead because of it. So. Is it my fault?"

"No, Hawke," he shook his head vehemently. "It isn't your fault that a crazed blood mage went after a man that knew what he was."

I let out a heavy sigh and pushed off of the Chantry, crossing my arms over my chest. "Is it time for a drink yet, Varric?"

"I thought you'd never ask, Hawke."

Varric and I passed the evening with many a mug of ale, just the two of us. Aveline was busy on Gascard's trail – I suggested that we help her, but as we were three or four mugs in, Varric insisted that we stay. At that point, I could hardly argue. Instead, Varric told me stories to keep my mind off of the templar's death. I still felt unsettled about the whole thing, including the fact that I had not killed Gascard when I was given the chance.

Some time later, in the wee hours of the morning, I managed to drag myself stumbling home. The lights were out and I found my room with little difficulty. Sleep, however, did not come so easily.

I did not wake for most of the day and when I did, my head was pounding. With a groan, I pulled myself from bed and splashed my face with water from the basin in the corner.

After finally convincing myself that I was doing no one any good hiding in my room, I descended the stairs. I still had the nagging feeling in my stomach, but tried my very best to squash it as I grabbed an apple from the kitchen and made my way out into the day.

There was much to do but little that I wanted to. I decided finally to venture to Darktown and speak to Anders. We had been stewing long enough.

By lunchtime I had arrived, his patients lining up clear through the door. When he saw me enter, the expression on his face changed to something unreadable. I approached him, passing a coughing child, and said, "Tell me what to do."

We spent hours on his patients. He healed some, I bandaged others and handed out the few potions or tonics that he had on hand to those with lesser ailments. It was nearly dinner time before we had a long enough break to breath, let alone sit and talk. Once the last patient cleared, he turned to me.

"Hawke, there's something I've been meaning to say to you."

I was waiting for a rant about the impropriety of my relationship with Cullen, about how I'd let a blood mage live, about the injustices done to my sister...

Instead, he said, "I'm sorry."

I was quite caught off guard by this and I imagine that my face displayed as much. It had been something like two months since my birthday, during which time Anders and I had spoken very little.

"I...I miss you," he murmured, not looking at me now. "I'm sorry for what happened on your birthday. I can't imagine it was easy to explain. I don't... I don't know what..."

"Anders," I moved forward and settled my hand on the plumage that covered his shoulder. "It's over now. It's been months, don't worry." Had he said something a week before that, I might have responded differently. With the recent death of Emeric on my mind and the niggling feeling that I was missing something, his slip-up was far removed from my thoughts. "I wondered if having Cullen there was a bad idea or not, but considering...well, everything I would say that it wasn't an entirely awful evening."

The look on his face suggested that he did not want to know what happened when we left that night. I caught myself laughing a little and I shook my head as I moved my hand back to my side. "I mean, considering there were two apostates, one with a...live-in companion and the other...well, whatever we're not calling Merrill... I would say it could have gone much, much worse."

Merrill's blood magic was a sore spot. In fact, I begged her not to practice it when I was around. I did not approve (no one did, really. Varric and Isabela tolerated it, as were their ways.) and she knew as much. It was a tenuous relationship, much like that between myself and Fenris for his no-magic policy. I tried my best to convince him that not all mages were evil – my sister, for example. I spoke of Bethany to him often, trying to persuade him into believing that magic didn't corrupt people necessarily. He either was coming around or just decided that the less he argued, the less he would have to listen to me talk about it.

Anders looked a little relieved at my response and took a step closer, hesitating slightly. "There's something else, Hawke."

That look again.

"Yes, Anders?"

"Are you sure about Cullen?"

I blinked at him for a moment, trying to decide how to respond. Though the words were not leaving his lips, I was relatively sure I knew what he was asking. "As sure as I am about mostly anything," I laughed a little, doing everything I could do lighten the mood. We had just barely repaired our friendship, I wasn't about to go on another two months not talking because he disapproved of my relationship. "There's no real way to tell, Anders."

He nodded solemnly though something told me that wasn't the answer he was looking for.

I left soon after, making my way back to Hightown. I didn't take the passage through the cellars – I reserved that for very specific times, mostly when I needed to speak to Anders immediately. Instead, I ambled through the city back towards my mother's childhood home.


	9. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadness and anger and blood and swearing and violence. And yeah.

I arrived home a short time later, after a lovely evening stroll. Upon entering the estate, I was greeted by Bodahn.

"Good evening messere. I trust your day went well?"

I nodded, thanking him for his inquiry and asked after his own day. He responded in kind and, as I made to check my desk for letters or notes, his next question stopped me.

"Have you seen Lady Leandra?"

I froze, turning to look at him. "No, why do you ask?"

"She..." he frowned, shaking his head. "She didn't come home last night."

"Maybe she stayed at Gamlen's," I suggested, turning back around to search the papers.

"...I...I thought she was leaving to meet a suitor."

I stopped, dropping the letter in my hand and spun again. " _What?_ "

"She received flowers yesterday afternoon and said there was a note, that she should be back by dinner."

"Dinner today or dinner yesterday?"

"I thought yesterday, messere."

My heart seemed to stop beating. _Flowers_.

 _He sends them white lilies before he takes them_.

"What _kind_ of flowers, Bodahn?"

"Why...white lilies, I believe."

"For the love of Andraste!" I made for the door and stopped short, moving back to Bodahn. "Stay here, in case she comes back, do you hear me? Get a messenger and send a letter to Gamlen, just to make sure she isn't there. Whatever you do, **do not leave**."

His face had grown pale but he nodded vehemently. I ran from the house and into the street. Directly into Aveline.

"Hawke, I have-"

"My mother, she's not home."

If I had been speaking in any other tone, Aveline would have questioned why my statement was so important.

"I've found Gascard – he was sighted in Darktown."

White lilies and Gascard DuPuis. I was going to wring his neck.

"I'll go through the cellar, Aveline. I'll get Anders and find that rat. You go to the Hanged Man and find Varric, Isabella if he's drunk. Meet me...oh Maker, Aveline," I stopped and took a second to breathe, shaking my head. "Meet me at the Darktown entrance to Lowtown, all right? Be there as fast as you can."

My blood had turned to ice but knowing that I would have Aveline with me helped some. She wasted no time, taking off at a run in the direction of the Hanged Man.

It was barely two minutes before I was in the clinic. I burst in without notice and found Anders dozing on one of his chairs.

"Anders. Come on, I need you." He stirred a little and I drew closer. "Anders! My mother is missing, get up!"

Startled, he jumped from his relaxed position. Blue glowed briefly but dissipated just as fast. Grabbing his staff, he moved towards me. "What? Where are we going?"

"To find the blood mage that lied to me," I spat and turned, making my way out of the clinic. It was not, perhaps, the most effective thing to go around screaming the name of the DuPuis man, but it is what I did.

Eventually I found him, mostly because I roused everyone from their slumber and they wanted the man found so that I would shut up. With nearly the whole of Darktown searching him out, I discovered him in no time.

"You," I seethed, jerking him to his feet by the collar of his shirt. "White lilies. Sent to my mother. That...that thing, the one that took those women...he has her, I know it. You said you could use blood magic to find Alessa. Try."

Anders voiced his concern and I shot him a look that threatened more than words could. Gascard agreed, however, and I thrust both mages out towards Lowtown.

Aveline and Varric were waiting for us when we arrived. The dwarf looked up to our tagalong and gave me a questioning stare.

"Don't look at me like that. He is going to help me find my mother. I'll atone for my sins when she's safe."

"Get on with it then," Varric prodded Gascard with Bianca and he proceeded to do as he was told. In no time at all, he was leading us about Lowtown.

"I don't like this," Varric mumbled from beside me as we trudged the streets of Lowtown. Soon, the Foundry in which we had located the remains of the other women months before came into view. I felt as though I would vomit.

I pushed passed Gascard and kicked the handle from the door, shoving my way through it as if it didn't weigh at least twice as much as I did. There was blood.

So much blood.

We searched and searched, memories of the day we went searching for Ninette playing through my mind. We happened upon a trap door that had been hidden the last time.

"Someone got sloppy," Varric pointed out the entrance and down we went.

Blood magic, most definitely. Shades, skeletons, demons. They came at us with every step. It was not long before we found the body of Alessa, her hair bleached an unnatural white. She was most definitely dead.

"I told you," Gascard pointed at the body, aghast. That he had. The poor woman.

We found many more things on our search, no matter how hurried I was, that made me move all the faster. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach and it seemed to be sucking in my soul. On we pushed, until we came upon a room that seemed to be a makeshift bedroom. Above a false fireplace sat a portrait of my mother.

"Mother?" I questioned the air, approaching it. I shook my head. It was not a younger Leandra, though the resemblance was uncanny. My hands were numb from my grip on the hilts of my daggers. I turned away sharply and moved in the direction that we had not gone. "We have to find her."

Not one hundred paces after, near a corner, something glittered in the light that Anders' staff gave off. I dropped to my knees and dug through the dirt, picking up a thin gold chain that ended in a familiar heart-shaped locket.

"This is my mother's," I gasped, pocketing it and standing immediately. "Move."

We spoke very little as we moved with haste until the tunnel ended. It opened up into a dirty, dark room in which there was a man and a chair. I could see feminine shoulders and a head cloth.

"Mother?" I breathed, stepping forward.

"You must be Marion," the man spoke. "I was beginning to wonder when you would show up. Leandra was so sure you would come for her. And Gascard, what a pleasant surprise!"

My eyes slid to the Orlesian mage beside me. He looked uncomfortable.

"A pleasant surprise to meet the man whose sister you murdered?"

"Sister?" he queried, laughing. "I know nothing of a sister. Gascard was my apprentice. Oh, Gascard, when my wife died, I could not... I was not right to teach you. Now, though! Join me, Gascard. You will learn all that you've ever wanted, and so much-"

Without warning, Gascard fell to his knees in front of me. From the back of his neck protruded the end of one of Varric's bolts.

The dwarf approached and jerked his accessory free, looking up at me with a question on his lips. "You were going to do the same thing, right?"

"You hit the wrong one," I snorted, trying to remember to breathe. With the lying sack of nug feces out of my way, I returned my attention to the man that had stolen my mother.

"Give her back," I demanded, taking a step.

"I am sorry to tell you that is not possible. Your mother was chosen because she was special. She is part of something greater, now."

"You're insane. If you let me have my mother back, I'll make sure that you die quickly."

"I have done the impossible," he began, looking back towards the chair. He seemed, mostly, to be ignoring me. The shoulders behind the chair back jerked a little. "I have touched the face of the Maker and lived! Do you know what the strongest force in the universe is, child? Love. I pieced her together from memory-"

I was going to vomit. I felt the bile rise in my throat. I stumbled forward, the monster's back turned.

"-I found her eyes, her hands, her skin, her delicate fingers...And at last! Her face. Oh, this beautiful face." He was standing on the other side of the chair then, his hand gone behind the wall that the back of the chair created. The hair cloth tilted back, as I imagine the head did. "I've searched far and wide to find you again, beloved. And no force in all of Thedas will separate us now!"

As he spoke, he bade the figure to rise. Rise it did. From the back, I could see a pieced-together white dress. As the figure rose, I noted the delicate crown that held back a wedding veil.

At the end of his speech, the figure turned.

I dropped to my knees and wretched, the sight of my mother's face, eyes clouded with death, burning into my mind. Before I could stand, the murderous retch was casting his magic, raising skeletons from the ground beneath us. One grabbed my ankle and I whirled, ripping my dagger from its sheath and severing the bone near the elbow. I was on my feet in an instant. I made no move for the demon that had appeared at the blood mage's call, nor towards the skeletons. My companions, behind me now, unleashed upon the once-dead.

I was in a frenzy. I rushed the man that had taken my mother from me and beat relentlessly against the shield that he had cast. I heard Aveline, Anders, and Varric calling my name as they fought off the onslaught of demons and undead.

My hearing seemed to cease, my vision narrowed. All I saw was the beast before me, dressed as a man. He could not hold his protection forever.

I waited. From within the bubble that he guarded himself with he could cast no spells. He imagined that the minions he had raised would destroy us. I stifled a laugh at the thought. Already I knew the first wave was decimated.

It fell. The barrier, it was gone. Before I could think or before he could speak, I pushed. I led into him with my shoulder. I had never been inexplicably strong, but in that moment I knocked a fully grown man back to the wall. With both daggers in hand, I raised my arms. I was too quick for him, this agility beyond anything I had known myself capable of before that night. The points of my weapons pierced his palms, pinning him to the crumbling wood behind him. The demons, as they fell, echoed his scream.

Finding the dagger that Cullen had given me, the one my mother was so proud of (it was lovely, she had said, though she would have preferred him to give me a ring), I drew it to his throat.

"I am going to kill you," I spoke, my voice so guttural that I did not even recognize it. The look of terror on his face did not phase me. "I am going to make you bleed for these women, you rotten, worthless piece of flesh."

As I sliced the dagger down his torso, deep enough to harm but not so much to kill him outright, I heard the din of the battle die behind me. I imagine that my friends were looking on in terror. The thought did not cross my mind at the time.

A slash across, and then another. He was criss-crossed with them, deep gashes that would eventually cause him to bleed out.

The maleficar had the audacity to plead with me.

"You ask for my mercy," I laughed, a terrible sound, as I tightened the hand I used to grip his throat. I could not risk him casting a spell with so much spilled blood. I made sure he could breathe enough to stay conscious. "Did my mother beg? The others? You soulless, despicable monster. You will die alone."

I heard the approach before I felt the hand on my shoulder. I whipped about with the dagger and nearly caught Aveline's throat.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me." I growled out and I knew I looked crazed from the fear in her eyes. It did not calm me.

When I spun back to the murderer, his face was drained of blood, his eyelids drooping. They rose in shock and dismay at the sight of my face again.

"I would cut out your heart," I leaned closer, the edge of my blade pressing to the wound I had already created in his stomach, "but I do not believe you have one." In I pushed, twisting the hilt back and forth. Despite what little air I allowed him, his screams resounded throughout the dark room.

"Varric, pin him to the wall," I demanded. Without hesitation, bolts appeared in the dying bastard's shoulders. I removed and made to sheath my daggers, only to find that I had ruined their holds. I threw my weapons to the ground, turning back towards my companions. As I did so, the sight of the figure that had taken my mother's face fell into my vision. It approached me and, within arms' reach, collapsed. Without thinking, I gathered it into my arms. Her.

Pulling her into my lap, I brushed her hair aside. I was covered in blood, none of it my own. It got onto her dress.

"Mother?" My voice was choked. I was suddenly very, very tired. I cradled her head in the hand that did not stroke her face. Something wet dripped onto the grayed skin. It was not blood.

Anders came to stand behind me and, his voice quiet, he spoke. "There is nothing I can do, Marion...His magic was keeping her alive." My gaze shifted to the slumped form of Quentin. Yes, he had a name. He did not deserve it. He was dead, now. Too quickly.

The lips moved. My mother's lips moved and her voice, frail, echoed in my ears.

"I knew you would come."

"Mother," more wetness. "Mother, I'll save you.. I promise-"

"Shh," she cooed, "Don't fret, darling. You have saved me from...a..an existence with that man. Now, my sweet child, I can be with your father. And Carver. And your grandparents. Oh...but you will be alone.

"Don't," I started, but my voice betrayed me. A sob escaped where there should have been words. "...Don't worry about me, Mother. I'll be fine."

"My little girl," her voice was weaker, growing moreso with each word. "has become so strong. I love you, Marion. You have always made me pro...ud..."

Her head fell back and I wailed, "Mother!" She did not respond. My back curved as I leaned over her, still holding her tight in my lap. The tears, though, would not come.

We were like that for some time, no sound but four of us breathing. Eventually, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I did not turn on Aveline, then.

"Hawke." Her voice was soft, tender. I nodded, slowly. Gently and with the utmost care, as if she were a newborn, I set the mangled body of my dead mother on the dirty ground. Anders on one side and Aveline on the other, I stood. I leaned into the redhead and turned my gaze to the mage. "Burn her."

His eyes widened and he looked beside me, to Aveline, and then to Varric. Both tilted their heads down once in agreement.

"I want no trace of this magic. If I could, I would have you burn this whole accursed building," I hissed, barely able to stand. My knees felt as though they would give out at any moment. My stomach was in my throat.

Doing as I had asked – more, told – Anders drew up a fireball into the palm of his hand. He bent his knees and knelt beside my mother, setting fire to her with a gently caress of her shoulder. The flames reflected in my eyes until there was nothing left.


	10. Blink

I held no recollection of returning to the estate. When I awoke, I had no idea what day it was. The only reason I had any concept of the time was that the sun was gone from my window, which lent itself to the assertion that it was growing to be evening. For a moment, I had forgotten. For a moment, all was right. My mother was probably pestering Bodahn as he made dinner, readying to assail me with questions about Cullen.

And then it all came back.

Her face. _His_. The blood.

 **So much blood**.

Still, the tears would not come.

I curled into a ball on my bed, tangled in blankets.

I stared at the wall.

One spot, just one tiny little spot, for what seemed like hours.

A knock.

"Marion?"

A voice.

Footsteps.

"Marion?"

Faster footsteps.

I could see Cullen's face, sideways. At first, it was covered in concern. Then, relief.

"Oh, Maker, Marion," he dropped to his knees in front of me, reaching his hand out. He touched my shoulder through the blanket with immense hesitation.

I blinked.

"It's..." I breathed. I blinked. I continued to stare at the wall behind his head.

"Sweetheart," he frowned and his hand moved tentatively to my cheek.

My eyes refocused onto his face.

The beautiful line of his jaw, the red-blond stubble that peppered it.

His eyes.

Oh Maker, _her eyes_...

Without warning, a sob escaped.

The floodgates had opened.

I was broken.

Cullen tried to put me back together. He slid onto my bed, beneath the covers. He pulled me into his lap, curled me onto him, wrapped his arms around me. He rocked me, stroked my hair, my back. All the while, I cried. I alternated between wails, sobs, and silent shaking moments. I do not remember the whole evening. I do remember the sun scorching my gritty eyes as it appeared in my window again.

I snuggled into the warmth of the templar beneath me, burying my face against his chest. His arms tightened around me and his low, shallow breathing increased a little. He stirred and he murmured meaningless words. He stretched beneath me, his lips finding my forehead.

"Aren't you-"

"Hush now," he stroked my hair from my face, hand curving along my jaw. "Just know that I am yours, Marion. No matter where I am, I am yours."

I felt as though I was going to cry again, though I had no tears left. It was another hour or so before Cullen finally coaxed me out of bed. And by that, I mean that he lifted me from my bed and sat me on the chair in front of my vanity. By the grace of Andraste, he sat me facing away from the mirror. He brought a basin of warm water and gently washed my face, scrubbed the remnants of dried blood from my exposed skin.

"A bath would do you good," he spoke as he scrubbed beneath my fingernails.

I made a noise, neither positive or negative. There were no women in the house.

The thought made me feel sick again.

"Marion," he spoke, his hand on my cheek. "Marion, look at me."

I hadn't realized I had been staring into space. His thumb stroked against my skin and I blinked, my eyes refocusing on his face. I tilted my head towards his hand.

"There we are," he smiled wanly and let his hand slip back to the water basin.

"Can you sit here? I mean, is it all right? I'll go tell Bodahn to set some water on the fire."

My eyes followed him. Words would not come. He frowned and his hand slid over my hair. It was matted and disgusting. I managed a faint nod, to which he gave the ghost of a smile.

The thought started as a fleeting sort of fancy as I saw him walk through the doorway. At first, my eyes were glued on the wall across from me. Then, I lifted a hand. I touched my hair and winced. I moved my fingers to my face, touching the puffy skin beneath my eyes. I blinked and, without thinking, began to shuffle my feet so that I might turn myself around and look into the mirror.

I had not gotten far before Cullen reappeared. When he stepped into the doorway, I was facing it. I felt blood rush into my cheeks. At first, he looked concerned – then, he smiled.

"Everything is being prepared, my love."

 **His** words.

My love. The demon in the Fade had said as much.

 _Love_.

The blood mage that had stolen my mother attributed his madness to it.

"Cullen?"

He had been bent over the bed, tugging the sheets and blankets off to give to Bodahn. He stopped immediately at my voice and turned, taking a step in my direction. "Yes?"

"Am I?"

His eyebrows furrowed and he drew closer, bending his knees so that he was at eye level. "Are you what?"

I didn't respond. He watched me for quite some time but still, I said nothing. Eventually, he stood up again and moved back to my bed to continue his work. It was not long before Bodahn knocked on the door and told me that the bath had been drawn. My eyes drifted to Cullen, who stood with a great pile of bedclothes in his hand. He managed to make it to the door and unload them upon the dwarf and his adopted son. The templar turned back to me in the doorway before his feet led him to stand before me. He extended both hands down and I stared at them, as if they were foreign objects.

First, I traced his fingers; then I took his hands and pressed them to my cheeks, closing my eyes. His skin was so warm, always so warm. I remembered that. I remembered him, willingly. I was happy then. Briefly.

"Help," I croaked, opening my eyes and lowering our paired hands, "...me up."

At my full, if broken, sentence Cullen's lips curled into a smile. A proud, appreciative smile. "As you wish." His hands lowered to my waist and he pulled gently towards his own body, causing mine to collide every-so-slightly as I found my feet beneath me.

It was a long, arduous process getting me to the bathing room. My legs did not want to cooperate much at all, but I insisted that I walk. Not that I wanted to, but I knew that I needed to. Cullen's arm was snug around my middle, a feeling that I had no complaints about. He was warm and he was safe. And he was there. And he was alive.

Cullen left me in the hall for half a moment, readying something before he showed me in. It was a bath like any other bath, save for the brilliant smells. I had not realized that my nose held the stench of death so resolutely until honeysuckle and lavender battled it for dominance and won out. I knew those smells together meant something else entirely. Embrium. It was calming, it was healing. This man was a genius.

"If you wish me to stay, Bodahn brought in a screen," he gestured to the dressing screen that was leaning against a wall inside the steam-filled room. I made no noise either way, just looked down at my clothes. Where was the blood? I could not remember changing, but I knew there had been blood.

"Do you...?"

Tipping my head back, I looked up at him. Silence descended as I watched him watching me. Slowly, I nodded. He seemed unimpressed with my nonverbal response but settled himself behind the screen regardless so that I might undress and climb into the water.

Into the tub I sank, enveloped with water so warm I felt cold. I slid my body down so that I might dunk my head. The water stung when I opened my eyes, but I kept them that way. My cheeks were puffed, strained with the air I kept inside. My hair, loose and slowly becoming clean, flowed around me. I could feel it against my shoulders, lighter under the water but darker in color. My lungs began to ache and my throat tightened, as if that would bring me air. I wondered how long I could stay like that.

I gave up, slowly surfacing. I let out the breath I had been holding and took in a deep new one, blinking furiously as water trailed down my face. The man behind the screen remained silent, but I could make out his seated silhouette.

"Cullen?"

He made to stand but caught himself. "Yes?"

"Nothing," I responded, my now seemingly permanent frown lessening just a little.

Some time later, much cleaner and slightly less fragile, I emerged from the cooled water to dress. A knock on the door resounded and after asking for a minute, Cullen made his way out while blocking me from his vision. I snorted a little as I belted my robe around my middle, everything else in place. The clothes were warm; Cullen had placed them by the fire so that they would be. Like I said, brilliant man.

From my vantage point and with the door cracked as it was, I could see little. I shifted and saw Sandal, the dwarf's adopted son, standing before Cullen.

Sandal lifted his hand, something I could not see in it. He offered whatever it was to Cullen with a cock of his head and a questioning, "Enchantment?"

Cullen, removing the item to examine it, let out a jovial laugh. "Indeed, Sandal."

Sandal's face glowed with a grin before he turned about at his father's call and made his way back down the stairs. Cullen turned about and knocked at the door.

"I'm dressed," I responded, ringing my hair out in a towel. It dropped to my shoulders and left dark marks of water on the rich fabric.

Cullen stepped in then and, the smile still on his lips, he approached me. He held out his hand and on his palm rested a dark circle, run through with slashes of silver. It was metallic but not metal, the band ending in what looked to be two unfinished triangles, settled close to each other but not touching.

"From the Dalish? You do get around, Marion," Cullen laughed a little, waiting for me to take it. I tried to smile back and must have at least mostly succeeded because I could see the happiness on his face.

"I did a woman a favor and she had no coin. She wouldn't take no for an answer, practically shoved it onto my finger. I thought..." I paused, making a face. "I thought you might like it, though I don't know how Sandal got a hold of it. Must've left it out and he picked it up while he and Bodahn were cleaning. All's the better, I probably would've lost it if left to my own devices." I paused, surprised that I was speaking so much. With a noncommittal shake of my head, I continued: "The woman's son was half-elf." I slid my fingers over his and closed his hand. "I don't expect you to wear it or anything, I just... I thought of you."

"Not your elf friend?"

"Merrill?"

"Right."

"No," I shrugged, not sure how to explain it. "Jewelry isn't really her thing."

"And you think it's mine?" Cullen laughed and I blushed.

"If you don't like it-"

"Oh, no, Marion, it isn't that," he lifted the hand that didn't hold the ring and scratched the back of his head nervously. "I'm not very good at getting gifts, I suppose." He looked down at the ring and slid it onto the tip of his right ring finger. It stuck and then, oddly, it moved the rest of the way down. He watched it with wide eyes.

"I can't say I expected that," I smiled a little, watching his face.

"Me neither." He looked at his hand, turning it back and forth as if he was waiting for it to disappear. "Well. I suppose that's where it's staying then."

Cullen had to leave before dinner. I was better by then – by no means back to my old self but I was speaking in full, mostly coherent sentences and I hadn't started crying again. I wanted to – when I passed her bedroom door, when I walked down the same stairs she had, when I touched the railing where her hand had lain. It was awful, being in that house without her. But I swallowed it and breathed. She was gone. I was not. I needed to tell Bethany and Gamlen. I sent word to the latter immediately, a letter with Cullen when he left for Bethany. There was no easy or good way to tell either of them and I tried to do it as delicately as possible.

Perhaps an hour after Cullen left, dinner settled in my stomach, I had curled myself into a chair in the library. Bodahn, having lit a fire, went off to go and do whatever it was he did. I told him not to touch my mother's room. I would do it on my own, but not yet.

I heard the door open violently and did not stir, as I then heard Bodahn's voice calling after my uncle as he moved to join me in the library. Loud footsteps.

" **Marion Hawke**!"

"Do you not know my middle name, or is it not so severe?" I snorted, not turning to look at him.

"Where is your mother? Where is Leandra?"

"Did you not receive my letter, Uncle?" he drew forward, I remained where I was. My eyes were glued to the flames.

"It's a sick joke," he shook his head, which I only knew because he was blocking the fireplace.

I tilted my head back and stood, squaring my shoulders. I was shorter than he was, shorter than Carver too. And Father, but taller than Bethany. And Mother.

"No, Uncle. My mother is dead."

"What? How did this happen? Why didn't you **do** anything?"

"I tried. I didn't get there...fast enough."

"You're right!" His hands balled into fists. He lifted them and pushed me back. I fell into the chair, knocking the back of my legs against the hard wood there. I looked up at him, the blankness of the morning returning. "You weren't fast enough or strong enough! How could you...Who did it? _Why_?"

"I don't know what his name was. And knowing why won't help." No, I held no love for blood magic and never had. But people wouldn't differentiate between 'blood magic' and just plain 'magic'. I wouldn't risk tainting his or anyone's opinion of mages because of one psychopath.

"Was? Does that mean he's dead?"

"Yes, Uncle."

His face darkened and his eyes narrowed. With his hands on the arms of the chair, he leaned his face close. "Did you make him **bleed**?"

I nodded.

"Good." He stood straight again turning away. He put one hand on the hearth and kept his eyes on the fire. "Have you told Be-be..." his voice caught in his throat, a sob choking it. His hands moved to his face and his shoulders shook. Slowly I stood and moved towards him. I reached my hand out and tentatively set it on his shoulder. He spun with a quickness I had not imagined that he possessed and his face bespoke grief and rage.

"Don't you touch me," he hissed, jerking away from me. "Don't you **ever** touch me. It's your fault, do you hear me? It's your fault Leandra is dead!" He fled then and I stared at the space that he had occupied, his words resounding in my head, playing over and over again.

The most unfortunate thing is that he was right.

When Cullen returned that evening (how he managed so much time away I never discovered) I was exactly where Gamlen had left me. Bodahn had come in to try and get me to sit, drink, anything. I did not even acknowledge him.

I heard Cullen's footsteps, his voice, as if there was fabric in my ears. I felt his hands but the normal warmth did not reach me, though somehow I knew that his temperature was the same.

After more mumbled speech, his hands on my face, he scooped me into his arms. I wailed. I squirmed, I beat against his back. I was making a fool of myself, throwing a tantrum like a child. I did not care.

My mother was dead.

I had killed her.

Cullen held me as he had before; I had exhausted myself, fighting him all the way through the house. I was curled into his lap, his hand stroking from the top of my head down my back, occasionally switching course to touch my cheek.

"It's all my fault," I murmured, hugging my arms closer to my chest.

"Of course it isn't," his hand stilled and he gently pulled me to sit up. He pushed hair out of my face, cupped my cheek. "Marion, don't be ridiculous. It isn't your fault."

"My father – I didn't have magic to heal him. Bethany didn't know. I couldn't fight the Darkspawn. I didn't stop the ogre. I didn't... I didn't take Bethany with us, I didn't hide her better. My mother..." I stopped, choking on my own words as a sob tore through me. "My mother is dead because I'm not enough."

His look was strained and he pulled me close, pressing his forehead to mine. I watched him close his eyes and let out a breath through his nose. His fingers were embedded in my hair. We were both on our knees on my bed, my hands fitfully resting on his chest.

"Marion," he sighed, pulling back a little and looking into my eyes. "Marion, it isn't your fault. None of it is, no more than..." he paused, trying to find something in his memory that would prove his point. A shadow passed over his face but he continued, "...no more than what happened at the Ferelden Circle is mine. You couldn't know."

"If I had-"

"If you had what? Been born a mage? Known that the Blight was coming? Been able to take down an ogre by yourself? Known that a maniac blood mage was capturing women for a necromantic ritual? You can't save the world, Marion."

He, thankfully, avoided mentioning Bethany. I do not know what I would have done if he had.

"I can't even save my family. Not a single one of them, Cullen."

"Bethany isn't dead," he responded, his thumb stroking my cheek.

I breathed. I had worked myself into a fit. Yes, Bethany was in the Circle. Yes, she hated me for it – she would certainly hate me more now. She wasn't dead, but I might as well have been.

"But she hates me," I cried, "She has got to."

Cullen hadn't been the one to give Bethany the letter. He had to be careful about his interactions, or else all would be lost. "She doesn't hate you, Marion. Even if she is mad, she knows that it wasn't your fault – just like you should."

"It has to be someone's." The tears didn't stop but I leaned against him, burying my face against his neck. His arms wrapped around me and he held me again.

"Blame me, if you need to," he spoke quietly, his hands rubbing my back as he turned to kiss my forehead. "Hate me if you have to, Marion. I can't stand seeing you like this – if it has to be someone's fault other than the murderous retch that did it, make it mine."

I couldn't, though. Any justification to make it his fault worked for me or half of Kirkwall. I shook my head against him and wound my arms around his middle, pulling him closer. When I spoke, it was into his tunic.

"Don't leave me, Cullen."

My voice broke, but not with tears. It broke, just like I did. His arms tightened around me and his lips pressed into my drying hair. "Never," he breathed, resting his cheek against my hair.

After a moment I pulled back and settled in front of him, balling the front of his tunic into my fists. His eyes roamed my face before I pulled him close. A kiss, a furious kiss. He returned it tentatively, his hands not moving from their place on my hips.

"Tonight," I pleaded against his lips. He pulled back and shook his head lightly.

"We shouldn't, it isn't-"

"Cullen, I am broken," I spoke resolutely, quietly. "I need this. I need you. I fear I am standing on the edge of a precipice. I have the choice to fall or to jump. I need you to catch me, because I must do one."

His eyes locked onto mine and we sat like that for a long time, toeing the line as he decided what was the best choice. Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. I felt his warmth again, and another not unfamiliar one spreading through me.

He would not. We did not. I had jumped and he had caught me, if not exactly how I had intended. His arms were open for me and that was all I needed.

I thought my heart would break for want of it but when he stayed, holding me the entire night, I found that it was more than enough. In the morning, I was not better but I was no worse either.


	11. Keep

I had no choice but to rejoin the world of the living so, stamping down thoughts of my family (death and rage) I pushed myself back into the city of Kirkwall, only to discover a letter from the Viscount.

I was to meet him immediately. By myself.

Taking in a deep breath, I returned to my room and dressed to meet the leader of the city that was ruining my life and had stolen my family.

I held my head high as I walked the streets of Hightown, my hands balled into fists at my sides. Well-dressed or not, I was always hiding weapons. I would sleep with them for years to come, whether I slept alone or with a...friend.

\----

Seneschal Brann did not look pleased to see me but I barely paid him attention, tipping my head as I walked passed. He called after me, saying that I needed an appointment.

I laughed.

\-----

"It's my son again," Viscount Dumar rubbed his pale forehead. "He's gone and joined the Qunari."

What was his name ? Seamus? That boy – though intelligent, had an awful way of going about things. Most kids stayed out too late; this one ran away with a major player in political turmoil.

"And what would you like me to do about it, Viscount?"

"Bring him home – you did it once, perhaps you can do it again. I'd prefer it if you can convince him into it, but if persuasion is impossible, drag him back."

I was by no means opposed to helping him, but I was momentarily struck by how ridiculous the situation was. I was playing bounty hunter-baby sitter.

"All right."

He sighed heavily, "I trust that you will do this discretely?"

"As much so as possible, Viscount."

I brought Fenris and only Fenris when I went to the Qunari encampment. His connection with the fatih and the people that believed it helped me to feel comfortable in front of the Arishok.

"Arishok, I mean no disrespect – but I must speak to Seamus."

The gray-skinned, horned giant watched me from the throne on which he sat. He spoke of baas and Seamus' unimportance, how he was only a member of the Qun, now. Not a political figure's son.

"I understand that we disagree, and I will not try to take him from his choice. He did not speak to his father before leaving and I only wish to give the Viscount a piece of mind."

The Arishok looked...well, as he always did. After a long, moment, he spoke. "I do not know why you are here. His father sent him a letter that requested he meet him at your church."

I looked to Fenris and frowned.

"Why would he-" he began, his face contorted in confusion.

"He didn't," I groaned.

"A trap?"

"Most certainly." I turned back to the Arishok and thanked him in his tongue as best I knew how.

Fenris and I ran, gathering Aveline at the Keep and Sebastian as we made it to the Chantry.

The boy was on his knees at the altar of Andraste. His dark hair ruffled in a phantom breeze as we reached the top of the stairs.

I could smell the blood before I saw it.

"Seamus?"

Nothing.

Louder. "Seamus?"

Still nothing.

I gripped his shoulder.

His body collapsed to the side and the blood was all over. His throat had been slit – somewhere else, the blood that was there had spilled down his front, from the wound.

I swallowed my scream and stumbled a little as I tried to keep my balance.

"We have to find out who did this...and in the Chantry!" Sebastian rallied. I wanted to slap him. Who cared where it happened? An innocent, if occasionally selfish, boy was dead and his blood was on my hands.

"We have to tell the Viscount," Aveline spoke, shaking her head. I didn't want to leave him lying there, but Aveline was right.

Letting out a shaky sigh, I used the rail to walk down the stairs.

"Serrah Hawke," a familiar disembodied voice spoke from the shadows, followed by the depressingly familiar face of Mother Petrice, "what an unfortunate turn of events. Murdering the son of the Viscount in the house of the Maker!"

I removed my dagger from its sheath but Sebastian grabbed my hand. He was lucky that I had the presence of mind not to turn on him and cut him down instead.

"You vile, insidious woman. He was just a boy!" Sebastian still held me back. I wanted to tear into him as much as I did the woman before me.

"It is necessary," Mother Petrice spoke, shaking her head. "We must start the revolution against the heretical Qunari. They are stealing our faithful."

"They can't be particularly faithful if they're leaving," I snorted, trying to calm myself by breathing. I jerked my arms out of Sebastian's grasp but did not step forward as I wanted to. Petrice looked as if she would hit me.

"Blasphemer!" Petrice cursed. As if on cue, a group of armed men and women drew forth into our view. "Earn your place by the Maker's side! These people have come to side with the Qunari and are spitting in the face of Andraste!"

She stepped back and turned away as the Templar, whom I assumed was leading the group, made for me. Sebastian called not to harm them and I groaned. It was so much easier to cut someone down than to knock them out. However, I agreed.

"Pin them to the wall, knock them out – whatever you have to do, but spill as little blood as possible."

Choir Boy was going to get it, so help me.

It was a frustratingly long battle in which I got a knife to the side and an arrow to the shoulder but we managed to avoid killing any of the zealots. I jerked the arrow out and groaned, feeling the blood drain from my face. I'd have to go see Anders, but we had other things to attend to. For the moment, I took an elfroot potion and prayed that it would be sufficient for the time being.

"There they are – killing the faithful in the house of the Maker!" Petrice accused, walking down a flight of Chantry stairs with the Grand Cleric at her side.

"In fact, none of them are dead," I responded, shoving the vial back into the bag Varric carried. Petrice's face turned dark.

"Sebastian?" the Grand Cleric looked to my archer companion and he nodded, responding in his thick Starkhaven accent. "She speaks the truth, Grand Cleric. We left them all alive, if a little bruised. We saw no sense in murdering these poor, misguided people."

"She murdered the Viscount's boy, as you can see."

"In fact, I did not," I responded, seeing red but clenching my fists. I wished, then, that Sebastian chose to keep me at bay. Unfortunately, he was staying his ground to my right.

"She speaks lies-"

"Mother Petrice, I have both eyes and ears with which to ascertain the truth. Hawke, you stand with the Captain of the Guard, on behalf of the Viscount, and with Brother Sebastian."

"Aye," I nodded, Aveline stepping forward and Sebastian as well. Sometimes – most of the time – we didn't get along, but he felt beholden to me and when he chose to stand behind me, I appreciated it. The Grand Cleric looked at me for a long moment before she nodded. "Tell me, then, what happened here?"

"I do not know all of the details, but from what I gather Mother Petrice had Seamus murdered in an attempt to incite a rebellion against the Qunari." I continued to recount the day and the evening, bringing her full circle to that moment.

The Grand Cleric decided to turn her back on Mother Petrice for the evening, speaking cryptically about the trouble she had caused and the sort she was in. She went to rouse some templars or some find some guards to take the rabble-rousers to the Keep for the night, in an attempt to discern who were the crazed faithful and who were only misled.

Unfortunately, the Arishok was not so subtle. He had sent an assassin, in the event that Mother Petrice had done exactly what we had imagined. Two arrows and the woman was dead. The words I had to share would do me no good and so I simply shook my head as the Qunari spoke. I would leave it to the Guard. I was, again, tired. I left Sebastian to deal with the mess we had made, Aveline to tell the Viscount – she understood – and Fenris walked me home. An odd thing, that – Fenris and I were at odds almost constantly over mages or something about magic. We walked in silence until my door, at which point he turned towards me in the darkness.

"The templar." He spoke plainly, no question in his voice.

"Yes?"

"He cares for you."

His words caught me off guard and I was struck by it, so much that I was gawking at him in the flickering lamplight that I would have to put out soon.

"He has to," he continued, leaning against the stone that made up the front of the estate. "He could not be so dense as to miss what Anders and Merrill are. Taking them in, however – he must know what that would do to you."

"I don't quite understand what you want me to say here, Fenris."

Suddenly, it dawned on me – it wasn't about Cullen at all. It was about the slender, brooding ex-slave that stood before me with the gentle glow of lyrium humming beneath his skin. The rage that propelled him at my side both helped him to stand and kept him in my presence. He may not have cared about me in the way the I suspected Cullen did, nor in the way that everyone (except me, of course) knew that Anders did, but he cared. In fact, he cared so much to impart advice that I was growing rather weary of hearing from a templar that was a known protector of mages and a possessed, revenge-crazed rebel mage.

"Understand that you put yourself in danger with the company you keep."

So said the elf with a bounty on his head.


	12. Slave

A few weeks passed and the aching loss of my mother lessened if only slightly. Mostly I had little time to think about myself as tensions grew with the Qunari. Aveline had me running around like a madwoman, not to mention the Viscount in his grief needed a second head and a second pair of hands. I was overwhelmed but I was distracted, which I needed. Still Cullen and I made time, although it was perhaps less frequent. One evening we sat at the edge of my bed as he recalled something funny that had happened earlier that week.

As I laughed, I noticed that he only smiled as he watched me. It was an odd smile – a resolute smile, soft and warm. He reached out his hand without warning and touched my cheek, as tenderly as anything.

My laughter faded and I turned towards him, curious as to the look that he was giving me.

"Marion, I think..." He paused, frowning a little. "You nearly died the other day." It was half-question, half-statement, and all true. Three days beforehand I had gone to the Wounded Coast on a lark of a mission from Aveline about a few raiders that needed to be taken care of. It was simple enough, but on the way back we were ambushed by a disturbingly large group of Tevinters. The mage that confronted us spoke of me having stolen property. I snorted.

"Of what do you speak? Certainly I paid for these daggers," I pulled them from their sheaths, rotating my wrists in a flourish. "I daresay I have earned all that I own."

"The slave."

"I see no slaves here," I looked at Varric, Anders, and Fenris. "I see only my companions."

"The elf."

"Do you mean Fenris? _Certainly_ you _can't_ mean Fenris."

"Stop playing games, girl – either hand him over or prepare to die."

"Prepare to die?" I snorted. "That's the best you've got?"

It was a tiresome battle but passed without much injury, Anders decimating a group with a brilliant firestorm. I was proud that he fought so hard, even for the elf that he so despised.

Fenris confronted a young fallen mage and discovered that Hadriana, who had been his master's apprentice in Tevinter, was hiding in wait for his return. After promptly breaking the poor boy's neck, he insisted that we hunt her down.

I have no qualms ridding the world of slavers, although I was unsure as to whether killing the boy was necessary. I kept my mouth shut and, despite how much I wanted to settle in with ale, we trudged on towards the abandoned slaver caves.

Again, the battle through the cave was not a particularly arduous one – mostly tedious. Skeletons and shades, birthed of blood magic, assaulted us at every front. About half-way through we discovered a shaking blonde elf girl, probably a few years younger than Bethany. She told us of what had transpired, how her father had been murdered, and how she no longer had a place to go. I offered her a job, to which Fenris responded, "I didn't know you were in the market for slaves."

I balked. "Yes, because I didn't just help to take down an entire fleet of slavers and the undead to help you find the woman that was half-responsible for your enslavement years ago with the intent to find the man that started it. Of course, Fenris. I'm going to chain her up and whip her. No, you sodding moron, I offered her a job. I intend to pay her."

He looked as if he wanted to hit me. The feeling was mutual. After making sure that Orana – the once-slave girl – knew where to go, I sent her on her way to Kirkwall. I was certain the path would be clear, should she follow the directions I gave her.

Fenris did not speak again until we reached Hadriana, at which point another fight ensued. This one was not so easy and I found myself backed into a corner with a blood mage. Fenris had busied himself with a particularly nasty demon that this woman, Hadriana, had conjured. Or called forth, whatever it is. Then, letting her barrier down, with her magic she thrust me against the wall. Entirely unable to move, there was nothing I could do as she approached. A dagger in one hand and her staff in the other, she slit a line down my arm deeper than any wound I had sustained for some time.

"You have rage in your heart," she hissed as she slid the blade down my other arm, my armor slicing like butter. It had to have been enchanted, her dagger. "Your blood will serve me well."

I was relatively convinced I was going to die. I willed my blood to stay in my body but it seemed to have the opposite effect. It appeared to spill faster just to spite m,e. I couldn't move and the more I struggled, the darker my vision grew.

Suddenly she was gone from before me,pushed to the side by the immense mass of Fenris' hammer as he let out a guttural 'no!", though I am not sure if it was for her gaining power or for my loss of life. Without her magic to hold me up, I dropped to the ground. Anders was too late to catch my head from bouncing back against the stone wall of the enclave. He cursed me as well as Andraste as he moved to heal me. Around the blue glow I could see Fenris standing over Hadriana as she suggested trading information for her life.

"Of course," I winced, pain shooting down my back as Anders' hand stroked slowly over the curve of my head. I could feel it sticking there, matting in the mess of blood and hair. It was a wonder that I had any blood left to lose. "I won't allow your death if you tell him but if you do not, or if you lie, I will kill you myself."

Fenris was none too keen on my response until he realized that it had not been entirely truthful. Well. I didn't necessarily allow her to die – but I had absolutely no control over Fenris and did not claim any such thing.

Once Hadriana had revealed to Fenris the story of his servant (not slave) sister, Fenris turned a dark look on me.

"Oh no, Fenris, don't," my words were monotone and completely lacked conviction as I made absolutely no move to stop him as his hand slid into the woman's chest to perfunctorily stop her beating heart.

Anders and Varric helped me to stand as Fenris stood over the unmoving body of a woman that he hated with every fiber of his being.

"I thought I would feel better with her dead..." he mumbled, not speaking to any one of us. We gathered away from him, me leaning against the wall between a mage and a dwarf.. Anders had healed my head though it still ached and he had closed the wounds on my arms but long scars remained.

I knew what Fenris meant. Quentin's face flashed in front of me and I shook my head. Fenris was taking off and Anders, half-carrying me, started towards a hidden door in the wall beside where I had fallen.

As the three of us that remained tried to hobble our way back to the city, I found myself rather well-fit into the arms of the rebel mage. Varric spoke at length of this or that nonsensical story, which I always loved.

This one in particular had me stalling a little though – normally his stories were nothing but that; tall tales, entertaining but mostly fiction. Occasionally (usually while very intoxicated) he would start weaving a yarn with words that could mean anything and sentences that made sense only if you read them backwards. This was one of those tales and with my severe lack of blood came a severe lack of focus. And so, stopping a little, I put my hands on my hips and looked down at his scruff-covered face.

"Varric, what are you going on for?"

"It's all about-" He paused for half a beat before he grinned. "You should know by now that I love the sound of my own voice, Hawke."

I laughed so much it hurt and dropped to my knees nearing the road from the Wounded Coast. Anders' hand slid down my back as he comforted me, though I don't know why he needed to. I shook in hysterical fits of laughter at something that probably wasn't half as funny as I thought it was. But I was laughing and that, in and of itself, was a miracle. Varric told him to step back a minute through his own chuckling – which I think was mostly due to the ridiculous sight of me rolling about on the sand in a fit.

Eventually I managed to calm myself and, wiping the tears from my face, I stood again with Anders' help. He had joined in laughing even, and there was a spark in his eyes I only caught glimpses of as we spent more time together. He seemed less and less...well, him. In those moments though, as we made our way to the Hanged Man for a pint (because I would inevitably feel better and needed food regardless) , he seemed to be him. Really Anders, before Justice – though I can only imagine what it was like. That night, I dined with a flirtatious mage and a rowdy dwarf, having left a slaver dead in a cavern and my cares along with her.

I had, of course, told Cullen the majority of the story upon finding him waiting for me when I arrived home. I was more than slightly inebriated and so probably did not accurately explain what happened – he was, to put it mildly, concerned. Rarely did he speak on the dangers of my life choices, but knowing that I had so nearly died at the hands of a maleficar set his jaw and had his clenching knuckles white. Eventually he calmed down when I told him the rest of the story (well, not all of it as I hadn't yet spoken to Fenris). He left that evening a little on edge and a little weary but he left nonetheless.

Bringing us back to the moment, three days after the slaver attack, in which he and I sat upon my bed.

"Well, I suppose I did. I hardly think that's cause for concern – it happens relatively frequently, actually." I smiled a little crookedly, mostly trying to make a joke.

He found it distinctly less funny than I did. Cupping my cheek in his hand, "Marion. Have you discovered what the dagger says?"

He had committed me to not asking Merrill and Fenris didn't know anything about it. I had, however, run into Marethari on a brief stint to find some Dalish ink (the name of which escapes me). Instead of asking her directly, I asked Master Ilen to clean my blade – which I wouldn't have even thought of had it not been a Dalish one, and I'm sure he wouldn't have agreed if the conditions weren't as such. Marethari and I were speaking near his shop when he returned it to me and I saw her wide, beautiful eyes settle on it.

"A gift from a Dalish friend?"

I looked down at shook my head, turning it over in my hands slowly. "A friend...his aunt spent some time with a Dalish clan in Ferelden and she passed on some of her stories, instilled some of the history and teachings into him. This was a birthday gift from him." It wasn't until that moment that I realized the blade probably hadn't been new when he had given it to me. Had it been his aunt's? Had he given me a family heirloom? My stomach twisted into knots at the thought of it. I didn't think I deserved such a precious gift. I lied to him too often, kept too much from him.

"I think 'friend' may be an underestimation," Marethari remarked.

"What do you mean?"

"Did he not tell you the translation?"

"No, he said I was meant to discover it on my own."

Marethari's lips turned up in a small smile and she put her hand gently on my shoulder. "I will not ruin your hunt for knowledge, but I will tell you this much, Hawke – it is something we say in our marriage ceremonies."

The thought made me smile even then as I sat beside the man who had gifted me the dagger. I looked at Cullen with a mix of curiosity and concern. What if he told me he believed in Alric's Tranquil Solution? Intricate, extravagant, (possible) family heirloom or not... taking care of me for days after my mother was brutally murdered or not...protecting my sister from the Knight-Commander as she slowly grew more strict or not...

"What is it, Marion? Why do you look so sad?" A frown creased his forehead and curled his lips downward as he slid his other hand onto my bare cheek, holding my face in his hands. He had moved some time while I thought, perching with his knees over his feet in front of me. Slowly he slid one knee to the floor and his hands dropped to take mine. "Marion, I want to make you happy."

The conviction in his voice somehow made me heart stop and my stomach flew into my throat. My eyes shot to his and I felt almost scared as his fingers found their place among mine. "There is nothing in this world that I want more than your happiness. Marion, I...I l-..."

He swallowed his words and frowned a little, shaking his head. He leaned close to me and rested his forehead against mine. He kissed me then, tentatively at first. My forehead, my cheeks, my eyelids, my lips. It grew fervent after a moment and soon his hand was in my hair and he was no longer kneeling in front of me. He stopped suddenly, as we had come to be repositioned horizontally on my bed. He held himself up with a knee and the opposite arm, the hand of the other idly stroking my cheek. As he began to speak, I opened my eyes. His face was still close to mine, his lips almost kissing me with each word.

"Marion, I have wanted to tell you for so long but I-I-I..." he frowned deeply and turned his head away. It made me heart ache for him. Reaching a hand up, I stroked the stubble on his cheek.

I knew it. I knew, in that moment, what the dagger said – not, perhaps, exactly but the idea – and I knew, too, what he was trying to express.

"Cullen," I breathed, turning him back to look at me. Our eyes remained focused on each others' for a long moment before I lifted my head enough to press my lips to his. Eyes closed, fingers laced loosely through his hair that I so adored, I murmured the words against his lips.

"...I love you too."


	13. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violence and smut, but not together.

Years after the fight that ended my relationship with Cullen and the one that began my relationship with Anders, when the tensions between the Qunari ultimately ended in a very one-sided duel with the Arishok and those between the templars and the mages had me chomping at the bit, I found myself in the company of my friends on the way home from another long and dirty day. Only recently had I gone on the hunt for three Circle mages-gone-apostates on behalf of First Enchanter Orsino in an attempt to keep them out from beneath Meredith's wrath. I had seen Cullen that day, as I walked the old familiar halls of the Gallows. It had been so long since I had slithered my way up the outside wall into his bedroom that it was rather believable that I had never been there as I stumbled about, trying to find the First Enchanters' office.

Of course, I saw Cullen almost daily if I found myself near the entrance to the city. He had rounds but more often than not, he could be found in the Gallow's Courtyard. It was unnerving. We had not ended on the best of terms, nor on the worst. We had just...ended – and certainly, after so long with Anders I did not think of him as I once had. Somehow, though, it struck me every time. Anders did not seem to notice much – at first it was because he had 'won' and, as time passed, he was preoccupied.

He stopped me as I made to leave for the courtyard, where my companions awaited me. I had left them to their own devices outside of the walls of the Gallows as to not arouse suspicion. Not only was I the Champion of Kirkwall by this point (and had had Viscount suggested though Meredith was greatly opposed and the thought rather fizzled out for the time being) but my sister was now a Senior Enchanter. It wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility that I would make an appearance, whether or not it was wholly seemly.

Cold metal on my linen-covered arm. We had not left the city that day and it was still early; armor was reserved for evenings and adventures.

"Ma-." The word froze on his lips and I turned in time to see his jaw clenched. There were new lines at his eyes, ones I didn't remember. "Hawke. What are you doing here?"

"Business," I responded, raising an eyebrow at him. I didn't jerk my arm away but he didn't hold onto it for very long. "I received a letter from Meredith."

"But you were leaving Orsino's office just now."

"I also spoke with the First Enchanter, you're right," I frowned a little. "Just because I came for one purpose doesn't mean it is the only thing I am allowed to do while here, does it?"

He watched me with curiously narrowed eyes. He knew me – or had once – well enough to know I wasn't giving him a straight answer. Our entire time together had been dotted with this vague, gray way of answering a black and white question. He sighed and shook his head. Where a smile would have once been now there was the slightest of frowns. "I don't know what you're getting yourself into, but be careful."

"Me?" I laughed, shaking my head a little. "That's what I have companions for, so that I don't have to."

He winced visibly and I was backed into a wall. It was subtle and shadowy – most of the templars that walked these stones were elsewhere. It was time for Vespers, I think. No, Sext -...Sexts? An odd name for a prayer time, if you ask me. But, of course, no one had.

"Hawke, I'm serious," he frowned, standing close but not too close as he kept me pinned with only his look. "Things are not good here for mages or those that side with them." His face paled a little. "I didn't... You know I..."

"What, Knight-Captain? What do I know?"

He huffed a little and, after removing his gauntlet, ran his hand back through his hair. "I am concerned, Marion."

His use of my name threw me off a little. I blinked a few times and straightened my spine. "What about?"

"...there are things..." he stood back a little his eyes scanning the space around us. He shook his head and moved back further. "Not here. I can't. Three days..." He turned back to me and his face betrayed an emotion I hadn't seen for a long time in those eyes of his. Fear.

He didn't need to tell me when or where. I remembered. It had not been so long that I could forget.

As it so happened, it took me three days to track down those mages that Meredith had asked me to – and then Orsino had pleaded with me to 'save'. Unfortunately two of them turned out to be the sort of evil that I hoped to avoid. Blood magic still made me want to tear someone apart. Fortunately I was often able to, although with much less pleasure than I would have thought. Especially with a situation like Huon's, in which he destroyed something he had once loved so. Even Evelina, whom had betrayed those poor boys. I just couldn't understand – not, I think, because I lacked magic but because I lacked a certain level of insanity.

I returned to the Gallows somewhat later in the evening than I had arrived those days before. I did not see Cullen anywhere, though the bells' ringing told me that it was time for Vespers (an odd name as well, though a far cry from Sext) so there was a viable excuse. He probably had much to do if he was going to be able to find himself available to see me later that evening.

I tried to put it as gently as possible to Meredith and Orsino (though not at the same time) what I had discovered. Neither seemed particularly pleased, though I thought I saw a glimmer of glee in the Knight-Commander's eyes as I told her that both Huon and Evelina were dead. It made my skin turn cold.

I left, though, and the templars (and mages) were coming back from Vespers. I still didn't see Cullen. Outside, amongst the Tranquil and cognoscente merchants I wandered for a little while. Anders and Varric had joined me, the former making a point of holding my hand as we waited for night to fall completely. As the merchants packed up for the night, Anders and Varric made their way off into a secluded area out of sight. Aveline, being the Guard-Captain, had changed the patrols that night so that she could keep an eye on me without being obvious. Anders was having a very difficult time doing the same. I could hear Varric grumbling as they walked around and around in the more open entrance to the city, though could only make out 'Blondie...don't be daft' and a few other words here and there as their path brought them closer to the shadows in which I stood.

It wasn't that I feared Cullen, nor that I was particularly afraid of whomever might come out of the shadows at me. I had long out-lived my expected (at least personally) years and as things grew more difficult, I grew emboldened. I took more risks (for example, not wearing my armor all of the time), which infuriated my companions. When Anders wasn't busy with his manifesto or the potion he was concocting (though I didn't altogether believe his cover story as much as I desperately wanted to), he was lecturing me. He did a lot of that, especially as he healed me.

As I said, it wasn't a particular fear of mine that had my companions haunting the grounds that night. The hours grew later and the sky darker, though still not sign of Cullen. The reason that Anders, Varric, and Aveline had made a point of coming that evening was that more and more frequently we had gotten accosted at night by this or that group. No extremist seemed to approve of my touchy-feely response to the templar-mage dilemma – I suppose that's how extremists work, though, isn't it? I didn't want to kill everyone on one side, so I was an enemy to both.

I waited for what seemed like hours. There was no way to tell, though, aside from the occasional yawn that escaped me which could have, truth be told, been from boredom.

Had I gotten the day wrong? I didn't think so.

Finally Anders appeared, presumably to make sure I was still standing, and rubbed his eyes a little. "Hasn't he showed?"

I shook my head and frowned. It wasn't a trap, otherwise I'd be dead. Or probably close. Cullen wasn't the type to forget something, especially when he suggested it. I didn't like it. As the three of us gathered up – another guard came shortly to relieve Aveline, another tell-tale sign that it was growing very, very early – I expressed my concerns to my companions. Varric and Aveline seemed to agree that it seemed odd while Anders tried desperately to convince me that it was purely Cullen's fault and, as a templar, he could not be trusted nor expected to keep appointments with mage sympathizers.

"This 'awful templar'," I clenched my jaw, a sudden rush of old irritation coming back, "is possibly the only reason you're not in the Gallows right now, or back with the Wardens. I suggest that you try to refrain from saying such things, especially around him." Anders knew that Cullen knew – about Merrill, too (whom I occasionally wouldn't have minded if she would be taken to the Gallows, but that is something else entirely) – but that didn't seem to stop him from making an ass of himself from time to time.

"You're not still seeing him, are you?" Blue glowed beneath the surface of Anders' skin and without warning the conversation turned into a domestic dispute.

"Jealousy does not become you. Stop being a child," I frowned, pushing passed him. His hand caught my shoulder a little harder than I had anticipated. I whirled on him. "Don't, Anders. You have nothing to say that I want to hear." Jerking myself away from him, I continued back towards my estate. Aveline walked at my side and Varric caught up as well. Anders kept his distance behind us, but followed just the same.

An ambush caught us at my door, a flurry of swords and magic spells. As it wound down, I held my dagger to the throat of a man that looked dreadfully familiar.

"Champion," he murmured, his eyes wild. It was a boy I'd saved from a crazed blood mage. Kee...Keeran. "Champion, I'm sorry – I didn't know."

"What?" I straightened and lowered my dagger. "What didn't you know?"

"They said...we had to take him, to draw our enemy out. I didn't know it was you."

" _What are you talking about?_ " I hissed, taking a step towards him. I didn't have the patience for him, not that night.

"I told them not to do it, I swear. If I had known, I would have warned you!" Keeran shook a little, seeming much younger than he was. I could see myself reflected in his eyes. I probably would have been shaking too.

"TELL ME!"

"We needed leverage...someone they cared about. They...they took Knight-Cap-"

 _Cullen_.

 **They had Cullen**.

"Where is he?"

"The Wounded Coast. I swear, they weren't going to hurt him. They said they just wanted you."

"Your own commander!" Aveline barked, taking a step forward. I put a hand up. She shook her head behind me, her armor rattling. "How could you?"

"The Knight-Commander...she's gone mad, I swear it. We thought...Thrask said that we had to do something to stop her and that someone was spying on us for her. I didn't know it was you."

"Because kidnapping someone is always the best way to deal with a dispute," I snorted, my dagger returned to its sheath. I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to keep from killing the boy with my bare hands. "Go. Go back to your sister. If you interfere again, Keeran, I...I cannot say that the third time will go as the other two." He nodded desperately and took off running without a second glance.

Wearily, I turned back to my friends. Anders looked livid. I pointedly ignored him.

"I'm going. The lot of you can come or you can stay. I'm going to go wake Fenris. The Hanged Man is on the way, I'll grab Isabela if she's not too drunk, maybe Merrill." I heard protestations coming from the blond mage but I turned on my heel and started a full march towards Lowtown.

"Why does it matter to you, Marion?" Anders asked breathlessly as the seven of us and Calenhad made our way to the outskirts of Kirkwall by the light of the moon, though the sun was beginning to peek up over the far horizon.

I would not stop. "They obviously want my attention. They have it."

"But it's that templar."

"Anders, so help me, if you say one more word I will not be held accountable for my actions."

"Blondie, you might-"

"Shut up, Varric."

"Anders," I growled, stopping violently. The entire party came to a fast halt and I backed him to the edge of the path. "If you are not going to help, go home. If you are, then shut the hell up and start walking." The blue hue of the Fade flared behind his eyes and burned at his fingertips. Shaking his head, he turned away from me and continued in the direction we had been going.

"Right then," I started towards the coast once more. "Let's see what they've got planned."

We skidded down the path, kicking sand up behind us. A large group was formed made up of men and women in both templar armor and mage robes. Most of them look frightened though some looked resolute. Not twenty paces in front of me was a relatively large huddle. Man-shaped. The chest did not move but it glowed a magic sort of glow, faintly the color of blood with the occasional spark of blue.

I heard clanking and it drew my eyes away from the body. A templar with flaming hair, one that I recognized on sight, was coming our way.

Thrask came to stand in front of me, blocking my view of Cullen as he lay prone on the sand in the brilliant morning light. I saw red and it had nothing to do with the sun.

"I suppose it was too much to ask that you wouldn't have come here."

"If you didn't want me here then why would you take him?"

Fenris snorted behind me and Thrask apologized. "We mean him no harm. We need you to see reason."

"Reason? Logic? What logic is there in capturing your Knight-Captain? In luring the woman that single-handedly killed the Arishok?" Fenris laughed. "Logic would be-"

"Enough, Fenris," I frowned and looked back to Thrask, my eyes darting behind him. Cullen had not moved at all. "I do believe in your cause, in the freedom of mages. I have been trying to explain this to you all for years now. I want what is best. It is true that mages are susceptible to demons and so they need protection from the Fade, not from their gifts. What Meredith is doing is wrong."

"I am glad to hear it, Champion. We will let the hostage go and perhaps solve this peacefully."

The woman that stood beside Thrask, a mage obvious by her robes, staff, and Circle tattoo below her right eye, stepped forward. "Let him go? No, he will die – and then the Champion."

Thrask looked honestly taken aback. "We do not kill innocents."

"The templar is no more innocent than the Champion." Her eyes narrowed.

"No, Grace. We are here to stand against Meredith, not to become her."

"Meredith? What do I care for Meredith? I am here for the Champion!"

Grace. The woman from the caves. Decimus. Alain. Blood magic. My face tightened and I tried everything I could not to jump forward and cut out her throat for what she'd done to Cullen, whatever it was. Instead, I spoke calmly. "Whatever you want, just tell me."

"What can you do for us? There is no way for mages to live in the Circle! Decimus was right and you killed him, you bitch!"

I clenched my jaw and my hands itched for my daggers.

"Calm yourself," Thrask shook his head as she turned away, moving towards the lump that was Cullen. "Grace, what are you-"

"He will die."

"No," I responded, drawing my weapons. "But you will."

I bent my legs and jumped. It was a long distance to cover but I knew I had to. If I didn't stop her, Cullen would die.

Cullen could die.

Cullen. **Dead**.

I crushed her to the ground beneath me and felt the dagger in my side but only just. I put my hand on her throat and my knee in her stomach. Around me, a battle began. The boy mage, Alain, he fought for us. Thrask, too. A few templars, having realized who I was, began to switch sides. Still, there were many of them. I saw the light fading in the woman's eyes as she thrashed beneath me. Without warning, however, a freezing blast hit my side. My right arm was useless with frost and I was knocked from the mage, who gasped for air at her first chance. She pulled the dagger roughly from my side and made to swipe at me again but from above, I saw Thrask.

"No Grace – she has not-"

And he was gone. His throat was slit and around him swirled his blood, in an unearthly storm of magic, life, and death as his body fell to its knees and then collapsed into a pile of flesh and bones. Grace laughed as she let the dagger fall, calling forth all sorts of demonic power.

My arm began to tingle again and I withdrew my dagger as she sent a spell at one of the templars that had joined us. I cut her leg from beneath her and jumped to my feet, coming to stand over her as she wailed in pain.

"You killed a good man," I growled, "And threatened the life of another. I cannot give you another chance. May the Maker save your soul, or what is left of it." Before she had the chance to harm anyone else, I removed her head from her body and turned to face the war that was waging.

Soon all were cut down and, with my hand pressed to my side, I turned back to the still motionless body of the man I love.

 _Loved_.

 **Love**.

I bent my knees and knelt beside him, reaching my hand out to stroke his cheek. It left a streak of blood, of my blood, and I cursed before I frowned. "Cullen. Cullen, you need to wake up now."

"Marion, really-" Anders started but I silenced him with a look. Alain came over and knelt down as well. I turned my eyes to him and frowned.

"I thought you left Grace."

"I did...but there are things...that happen in the Circle. We...It isn't right, Champion."

I nodded a little. Cullen and Orsino, in their own ways, had always tried to keep Bethany from it and for that I was pleased. "But...what about him?"

"Grace used blood magic," he shook his head a little and picked up a dagger, holding out his wrist. "There's no other way for me to wake him up."

And so blood magic saved the man it had intended to kill.

Cullen's breath rushed back into him and he blinked furiously. I leaned closer to him and I couldn't see or hear anyone else. "Cullen? Are you-"

"Marion? Is that ...is that really you?" His hands found my face after he struggled to sit up. I nodded and knew there were tears in my eyes. I could see them reflected in the ones in his. "They said..." He pulled my face forward and I was being kissed, Anders' furious protestations blowing up behind us as the world dropped away. "Marion, they said they would kill you."

I laughed against his lips, "And you thought they could?"

"They...blood mages... There were so many of them."

I nodded and pulled away from him a little, standing and then helping him to his feet. "Don't worry, Cullen. They're dead and we're all safe. Let's get you back-"

He shook his head a little as he draped his bare arm over my shoulders and I nodded my head to Aveline – she moved over and put his other arm across her shoulders and helped me help him.

We moved him off to the side a little and set him down against some comfortable looking rocks and I had Merrill keep him company. She wasn't much good at healing but she could calm him a little. I knew Anders would just as soon make it worse if I gave him the opportunity. The rest of us checked the camp and rummaged amongst the discarded weapons. It was never something I enjoyed, taking things from the dead – but they weren't going to use it and...well, it was mostly a habit by then. Anders' fingers curled tightly around my upper arm, pressing my armor into my skin.

His voice hissed next to my ear. "What was that?"

"Anders, the man was kidnapped by men that he thought were his friends and put to sleep with blood magic," I frowned, turning to look at him with a tired expression. "He's upset and he's confused and he's hurt, Anders. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to be the woman I love," he frowned deeply, blue flashing behind his eyes as it so often did these days. "I want you to stand for what is right, beside me, and..." He pulled me roughly with his hand still above my elbow, his other pressed against my cheek. He kissed me, hard, as if marking his territory with force.

"Anders, now is not the time to puff up your plumage," I rolled my eyes at his antics (and the black feathers on his shoulders) and moved away from him a little, bending down over the aging wooden chest before I moved to my knees in front of it. After half a second I had the lock picked and the top popped. "I understand why my interaction with Cullen would make you uncomfortable, both as a mage and as a man, but regardless of how you feel I have to do what I feel is right. I can't send him back to the Gallows like he is, it'll bring down too many questions on his head. It's safer for everyone if I bring him home and let him rest up long enough so that he's able to deal with the onslaught I am sure he will face."

"You want to keep him in your home? I won't stay there while he is."

I huffed and removed a thin necklace and a few silver pieces before I stood and shrugged at him. "If that's how you want it, Anders. I'll let you know when he leaves."

He was acting like such a child I was actually relieved he decided to storm off after I didn't play into his game. He expected me to recant having Cullen stay, even though it really did make the most sense, when he told me he wanted nothing to do with it. When I responded so nonchalantly to such a scenario...well, he didn't like it much. With a few choice words, he turned on his heel and marched off in the direction of Kirkwall. This was happening more and more – we would fight and he would leave. Sometimes I did, but not often. I wasn't the one that was wrong and I think he knew it. We would fight because I wasn't as extreme as he was. I didn't want the death of all templars, nor did I believe in the destruction of the Circle. I thought it was a good tool that, if shaped correctly, could help mages to become even better at magic. I thought that what had been originally created had potential but, as we often do as humans (and dwarves and elves, honestly) we botched it up. I knew as well as anyone else that magic could be dangerous but it was no less true that a sword was. Certainly possession was more common among mages than those without magic but insanity struck just the same. The likelihood of possession made it all the more important that we trained the mages to be strong-minded and vigilant, not locked in cells, torn down by society, and angry at their lot in life. That would accomplish nothing, as we often saw those days.

He would not listen, and so he left.

That day on the Wounded Coast, seven of us made our way back to Kirkwall while one of us plotted alone in his Darktown shack.

Some time later after a litany of salves, minor healing spells performed by Merrill, a bath, and a very small amount of food, Cullen was propped up against the headboard of my bed. I would have been lying if I ever said it wasn't the strangest thing. For a moment as we sat there, me on the edge and his bandaged middle peaking out from beneath my blanket, I thought maybe the last few years had been a dream. That I had never taken Anders' side, that Cullen had never had to choose...that if I decided to crawl under the blanket and curl up next to him, I would be greeted with a smile and a kiss.

We sat in silence for neither of us knew exactly what to say. What had passed between us on the beach had done enough though it served mostly to confuse us. I made to stand after a moment, in response to which I felt Cullen's warm hand on my arm.

So very, very warm.

"Marion?"

I turned more, bringing my legs onto the bed as I faced him and put one hand on the bed between us to prop myself up. I didn't speak, waited for more.

"He's not here because of me."

I nodded a little but shrugged my shoulders. "It was his choice."

"Does he live with you?"

I frowned deeply and looked away before I nodded a little. "It...it wasn't safe, him staying in Darktown. Templars have to make their rounds, you know. It's hard enough keeping the clinic going, let alone having him in one place all of the time."

"You don't have to-"

"Yes I do, Cullen," I turned my face back to his, my lips still turned down – moreover, though, I knew it was in my eyes. It was hard to explain what emotion it was, exactly. Sadness, anger, envy at part of my life and frustration with another. And an inexplicable happiness that the man with the beautiful blond-red hair that I so desperately loved was lying in my bed. "I do because it's wrong and we both know it, but I couldn't stop myself – I believed, and still believe that what was and is happening with the mages here isn't right. And the Knight-Commander...she's insane. I couldn't lose him too...but then you... you were gone and I needed someone..." My words came out, it seemed, all at once. I was surprised that they managed not to come out one on top of the other. In the flurry of it all, my nerves a jumble, I felt his hand cover mine. The warmth.

"Not gone," he responded quietly and his fingers curled underneath mine. He pulled me gently, more of a suggestion than a request, and I gladly followed the direction he proposed. I did crawl beneath the blankets and curl against his side. "I've never been gone, Marion. Merely a little lost."

"But I found you," I breathed and I could feel the tears again; so very many tears in front of this man. "I found you and I saved you." I paused and sucked in a deep breath before I whispered, "And now you're mine."

"I always was," he kissed my forehead in response. I tilted my head back and found his lips, though tentatively. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small part of me knew it was wrong. I had told Anders I loved him – and, some part of me did. I had shared my home, my heart, and my body with the blond mage but here I was, once again sharing my bed with the Knight-Captain. Was it more wrong to be with Anders or Cullen? In that moment, the answer was clear.

I returned the kiss with a yearning I had been holding back for what felt like my entire life. His skin burned against me, even through the fabric of my clothes – which didn't last long. His hands worked as they once hand, quickly as anything but never missing an inch. He caressed as he removed my tunic and trousers, reducing me to my smallclothes in what felt hours but in reality was more like seconds. His trousers seemed to have disappeared all on their own but still, it was not enough.

"Marion," he spoke, his breath heated and hurried against my neck as the last of our clothes were removed by frantic hands, "Marion, I have not stopped thinking of you, not for a moment."

I believed him, mostly because I understood. Yes, I lived my life – I protected the innocent, I fought for what I hoped was right, I drank with my friends, I laid with Anders...but there was not a single day or night that passed without a fleeting memory, a thought, a dream of the man who was beneath me then. My heart shattered as he entered me, for all of the minutes I had missed with him and all the more I would.

Even as we came together as two lovers ought, I knew nothing would change. We had that night, those moments in which we loved one another as we were meant to, and nothing more. Star-crossed from the first and we both knew it, which made it much less surprising when we both discovered our faces were covered in tears. We spoke of love and perfection, of truth and right. We had all of that then, as we laid side-by-side. We made love again and again that night, as often as we could. We knew when the next day broke life would resume and continue as it always had, that we would be forced to be what we always were.

It was ecstasy and pain, that night locked away in my room. It was nothing like the first time, so many years ago when I looked at the world with such naivete. When I believed that our love would keep us through death, through war, through hate. When I looked into his eyes I knew no man would ever have what he had, that Cullen had possession of my soul and that I had given it completely. I was not whole without him but that didn't mean I couldn't survive; it seemed like that was all I did.

That night, though, I _lived_.


	14. Gold

Four days after our run-in with Hadriana, I was returning to my estate after a day spent in the clinic. I wasn't much help as I had no magical abilities, but I hunted down some ingredients and mushed them together into less-than-professional salves. Anders said he liked to have me around, not that we had much of an opportunity to talk with the regular stream of patients.

It was dark out but I had donned light armor over my tunic before leaving Darktown. I didn't like to use the secret passage from Darktown through the estate's basement unless it was absolutely necessary. The less frequently it was used, the less likely it was to be discovered. I had no opposition to walking, though I did make sure to try and keep to the paths that were guarded by Aveline's men and women. I reached the door of my estate without incident and entered to dull candlelight and a dozing Bodahn. His adopted son sat by the fire, petting Calenhad rather vigrously. The Mabari didn't seem to mind.

At the sound of my footfalls, Bodahn started and sat up immediately, "Oh, Mistress Hawke, I didn't-"

"Enchantment?" Sandal asked, grinning. I laughed a little and patted his head as I moved into the main room of the house, making for my desk to check for letters.

"What didn't you, Bodahn?" I asked offhandedly, not entirely concerned. He seemed to think every household task was an immense, life-changing thing. If he had forgotten to make dinner, I would eat an apple and stale bread. It would not be the first time.

"Mistress?" Another voice, higher and feminine, spoke from the corner. I jumped – Orana, the blond elf that we had somewhat saved from the caves, stepped more into the light. I wasn't quite used to her presence yet, though it was hardly an unfortunate one.

"Andraste's knickers," I shook my head, "You would think that I'd be more used to be snuck on. I-"

"Oh, Mistress, I'm sorry-"

"Don't worry about it, Orana, no harm done. Now, excuse me just one moment – Bodahn, what were you going to say?"

He looked somewhat red in the face, as though it was paining him not to speak. Finally, all in one breath, he let out, "I didn't make dinner."

I snorted rather loudly and then coughed to cover it, trying desperately not to laugh. "I'm not particularly hungry, so it's probably best that way. Did the three of you eat?"

"Enchantment!" Sandal nodded vehemently and pointed to Orana. I raised my eyebrow at her, smiling.

"I..oh... I just made a little soup, something Papa used to make..."

"Well, good on you, Orana. It's probably best that you've joined us, I think Bodahn might have been at his wit's end with me."

"Oh, no, no, Mistress! Nothing like that," Bodahn shook his head, trying to dispel such thoughts.

"I was only joking, Bodahn. I can't imagine you're upset about the help, though. Oh, this reminds me." I took my coin purse from my swordbelt and put it on my desk. There were several different coins and it jingled somewhat loudly. "Orana, I would like you to take what you think you deserve but I will not accept you taking less than one gold piece. Bodahn, I would also like you to start paying yourself. Don't even think about disagreeing with me. Think of it as a savings fund for Sandal, if nothing else."

Both Bodahn and Orana looked aghast at my suggestion, to which I could only laugh. "When you two have figured it out, I would very much like a bath – if it isn't too late."

"Oh, no, no, Mistress. I'll start it right away," Orana scurried off to put water over the fire. I shook my head.

"Sandal," the boy turned to me and I bent my knees to bring my eyes level with his, "You're in charge while I go change. You make sure your papa and Orana take their fair share, understand?"

He nodded, though I don't know if he really did know what I meant or not. "Enchantment," he smiled and stood up, dusting his hands off on his pants or perhaps dusting his pants off with his hands. I saw him move over to the desk as I began to climb the stairs and supposed that he did, indeed, know what I meant.

I was drying myself off after a gloriously warm bath, a knock sounded on the bathroom door.

"Mistress?" It was Orana.

I wrapped my towel around my middle – no, it wasn't particularly proper. Aside from offending Orana I didn't think I would do much harm. I moved to the door and opened it enough to speak to her. "Yes?"

Her already large eyes widened even more and she ducked her head. "Oh, Mistress, I'm sorry."

"It was my choice, I would just prefer not to talk to you through a door. What is it?"

"There's someone here to see you."

"Do you know whom?"

She shook her head and her cheeks colored, most likely embarrassed that she hadn't asked.

"It's no matter. Tell whomever it is that I will be down in a moment, please."

Orana nodded and I closed the door over, dressing quickly and running a towel through my hair again in an effort to get it to stop dripping.

Minutes later, I was hurrying down the stairs when I noticed no one in the main room. "Hello?" I called as I came to the solid ground. I had left my daggers in my room. Curse it.

Presumably, Bodahn and Sandal were sleeping. Calenhad had been in my bedroom when I had last seen him but where had Orana gotten off to? Certainly she wouldn't leave a guest on their-

A shock of white appeared in the dark doorway that led to the entrance of my estate. Fenris stood before me, his normal brooding looking amplified.

"Fenris? What-"

"I've found her."

My immediate reaction was that Fenris hadn't been my original guest and whomever it had been had murdered Orana. I pushed past him into the dark foyer and searched for a body to no avail.

"What in Thedas are you doing, Hawke?"

"Look-" I stopped, huffing a little as I ran my hand back through my hair and moved back towards the fireplace. "You weren't talking about Orana, were you?"

"The blond elf?"

I nodded.

"No, she ran off when she relayed your message."

"You are kind of scary," I laughed a little. He didn't.

"Hawke, this is serious. I think I've found my sister."

I stopped and turned away from the flames, looking at the ex-slave. I had no idea what to say to him. Congratulations?

"What...do you intend to do?"

"That's why I've come," he took a step closer, rubbing his forehead with one hand, "I don't always agree with you, but you are usually...right. Part of me wants to contact her but part of me doesn't want to know."

I nodded. That I could understand. After half a moment, I shrugged a little. "If you don't search her out, won't you always wonder?"

He was silent for a long while and I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest. I watched him without a word, though with concern. Finally, he looked at me with a frown.

"What if it's a trap?"

"Then you'll get to kill Danarius, most likely. Either way, you get to confront someone about your past."

"You mean-"

"Don't be an idiot, Fenris," I pushed off of the wall, hands moving to my hips. "If you want me with you, I won't be anywhere else."

The white-haired elf was silent again and his arms folded in front of him, eyes narrowed a little as he looked at me. Finally he nodded and turned on his heel, "I will send word when I receive more information."

"I suspected as much. I'll make sure Bodahn keeps an eye out for any missives from you."

Fenris stopped at the door, his hand pushing it out into the street. He turned a little, his head curved over his slender shoulder. "Hawke?"

I raised an eyebrow, "Yes?"

And again, he nodded. I smiled as he turned his back to me and stepped out onto the stones of the Hightown street. "Your welcome," I laughed a little as the door closed behind him and I moved back towards my bedroom.

While we waited on our contacts to inform us about Fenris' sister, we went on about our lives. It was almost a week later that Merrill asked me to her home.

I had seen the mirror before, though I hadn't paid much attention to it. The Dalish artifact that we had gotten for her hadn't worked and that was pretty much all I knew about it – I wasn't too familiar with Dalish history or their practices and I think, wisely, Merrill had neglected to tell me some very pertinent information.

She was very lucky that Varric had insisted on coming with me.

"Hawke... I need...there's a demon."

I blinked.

"He's the one-"

"You made a deal with a demon?" My voice cracked. Varric put his hand on my left arm to keep it from reaching for my weapons, though I had the presence of mind not to.

"It's why I started practicing bloo-"

"No."

"But Hawke-"

"NO!" I roared, breaking away from Varric and coming up on Merrill. I was somewhat tall for a woman and therefore a giant to the petite elf girl. I did not raise a hand to her, though I was intimidating enough without it I imagine. "I will not help you use blood magic."

"There's nothing-"

"Daisy, I wouldn't-"

"There's nothing wrong with blood magic?" I finished for her with a derisive snort. "Right, Merrill. Because we've ever met a blood mage that hasn't gone completely insane. Maybe, if there was proper training for it? I don't know, I don't pretend to know – all I know is that nothing good has ever come from it, and I won't be a party to what you're suggesting. I also cannot promise how kindly I will take to the idea that you or any of our companions go, though I don't know that you could convince anyone to go along except maybe Varric."

"Is that a threat, Hawke?" Merrill asked, eyes wide but her voice dark. I had stepped back from her and then I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head.

"No, Merrill. But this is: the next time you practice or even so much as mention blood magic in front of me, I will not be held accountable for my actions."

I didn't wait around to see what she or Varric had to say to this. My vision was blurred with anger and I spun around, moving quickly though not silently from her house into the Alienage. I stalked to the Hanged Man without a look behind me.

I sat, somewhat brooding, in a dark corner of the Hanged Man with a large mug of ale clutched in both hands. Eyes cast down into the murky liquid, I made a face. Fenris was intent to kill a blood mage and Merrill wanted to become one. Or, rather, become a better one. Then again, I imagined that Fenris wouldn't have minded killing everyone that possessed some form of magic, which I most definitely didn't agree with. I didn't understand - and still don't, really - why so many people had to see the world in such stark black and white colors. Cullen, a templar, concerned me occasionally with his unspoken opinions about mages. Sure, he helped me to keep Bethany safe but that was most likely because of our relationship. In fact, it was probably the only reason he hadn't turned in my companions as well. Anders...well, if there was a way to make everyone have magic he probably would have done it just to shake things up. Varric was probably the only person I knew that had any sense in his head and even then, he was easily swayed by his loyalties.

What about me, though? Why did I believe the way I did? My father, most likely - he had always been opposed to blood magic. Also, he had been very adamant that the Chantry wasn't all wrong. Magic was meant to serve man, not to rule him - in the sense that a mage's power shouldn't go to his head, not that mages should be subservient to non-magical individuals. The idea was that magic was a tool given to men by the Maker, not that mages were given to their fellows to be used. No one seemed to understand that, though. Sometimes I lost sight of it too, so frustrated was I that so many mages seemed to be turning to blood magic. It wasn't entirely their fault and I knew it; when an animal is backed into a corner, it attacks. When a human is forced to the brink, they will do the same. With mages, that means doing anything they need to so that they can escape - even if it means succumbing to demons. A man that is proficient with a sword that has never killed before will take another man's life if he threatens the swordsman's family.

Why couldn't other people see that too? The only difference between a man with magic and a man with a sword is the tool with which he works.

With a groan, I downed my ale and stared into the mug as if it would magically refill. I picked it up again before dropping it unceremoniously. Leaving behind a few coins, I left the Hanged Man for the streets of Lowtown. There was nothing for me there. Or, it felt, much of anywhere.


	15. Eyes

Cullen and I entered my estate laughing and holding onto each other – we were both in plainclothes and looked very little like our normal selves, cheeks colored slightly with drink and happiness. When we stepped through the doorway into the main room, I could hear Aveline and Isabela arguing before I looked up to see them.

"...and 'whose the father?'"

"Oh, you little-"

"Ladies!" I broke away from Cullen and waved my arms uncharacteristically. "Isabela, Aveline – what are you going on about?"

Two pairs of eyes, one green and one amber, alighted on my companion and I shook my head. "Just tell me.

Aveline huffed a little but started in anyway. She spoke of the Arishok, of fugitives, and of urgency.

"While that's all fine and dandy," Isabela shook her head, stepping closer to me, "I'm going to die."

I frowned and lifted my hand to run my fingers through my hair. "Cullen, this might take a while."

He shrugged a little and leaned against the wall. "Don't mind me."

I laughed a little and turned back to look at Isabela. "Okay. Death is bad – how can we avoid this?"

"You know that relic I told you about? The one Castillon tried to kill me over?" I nodded, she continued. "I know who has it, he's here in Kirkwall. Wall-Eyed Sam. If you can help me get it back, Castillon will stop."

"I'm trying to keep the entire city from rioting against the Qunari!"

"Well..maybe...it's connected. Maybe it will help?"

"Now you start being responsible?"

I groaned and rubbed my forehead. "Aveline, please stop. I understand that the Qunari issue is a threatening one, but if there's any chance that finding this relic...thing will help Isabela and possibly the Qunari situation, we have to address that first. Besides, the Qunari aren't going anywhere. This Dog-Face-"

"Wall-Eyed Sam," Isabela corrected me.

I snorted, "Whichever. He probably won't be around much longer, if he's got Castillon's relic. I can't imagine Isabela is the only one that wants it."

"You trust her this much?"

I looked to Isabela and remembered. Everything. I nodded resolutely with a small smile. She may have had curious morals and been a cheater at Diamondback, but she was a good person. "I do."

"Well then...just remember that the rest of Kirkwall isn't stopping to wait for you. If retrieving this relic doesn't help..."

"I know, Aveline," I sighed a little, but Isabela started in again.

"The exchange is happening tonight, at a Lowtown Foundry. We'd better hurry."

I groaned slightly and looked over at Cullen apologetically.

"Do you want me to wait for you?"

I closed the distance between us and kissed him for a moment before I pulled away. "If you'd like. I can't promise when I'll be back."

"There are plenty of books," he responded, tugging me closer. "You be careful, Marion."

I couldn't suppress my smile and ducked my head in agreement before accepting a kiss from him. Eventually we broke apart and I climbed the stairs, the gentle hum of alcohol long-since gone as I slipped into my armor.

We came upon the entrance to the Foundry within which Isabela assured us the relic resided, for the moment anyway. Outside was a guard of Qunari, which I had spotted several paces off. I stopped the group and pulled Isabela aside.

"So. What's with the Qunari? What aren't you telling me?"

"The relic...might belong to the Qunari. And they might...maybe want it back?"

I blinked at her, dumbfounded. "And you...never thought to tell me this?"

"I didn't want to worry you. It's a book. A text from their philosopher."

Fenris' eyes were wide as he looked at her, "Do you mean Koslun?"

"Oh, I don't know."

He turned to look at me, "Koslun founded the Qunari's religion. He's one of their most important historical figures...the book that Isabela is talking about is sacred beyond measure."

Isabela looked like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar. Only worse. "I...stole it, they followed me here to reclaim it, and it...might be why they're still here in Kirkwall."

"You mean all of this is because of you?" Aveline looked furious, her voice raising.

"Hold!"

The Qunari had heard her.

"Shit," I groaned, drawing my weapons.

"It's the thief!" Another one of them added and the eight of them banded together, approaching us.

"Double shit," I uttered, dodging into battle.

We took care of them quickly, though I hated to kill them for what seemed like no reason. As I sheathed my daggers, I saw Aveline coming up on Isabela. I took a step towards them and put my hand on the Guard-Captain's shoulder. "As much as you may want to ring her neck, it won't do us any good."

"How did you steal the relic from the Qunari?" Fenris asked as I led Aveline back away from the Rivaini.

"The Arishok never had it, the Orlesians did. They had plans to return it to the Qunari. I...convinced the captain of the Orelasian convoy that it was more important to me."

"Why would anyone want it other than the Qunari?"

"The Qunari and the Tevinter Imperium have been at war probably as long as they've been around," Isabela responded, "I imagine it would strike a blow to Qunari morale if their enemies had such a thing."

"And you want to give it to them?" Fenris growled, obviously less than thrilled about dealing with the Imperium.

I held up my hand for him to quiet, looking resolutely at Isabela. "Giving the book back could solve Aveline's – and most of Kirkwall's immediate problems."

"Could, Hawke. I know giving it to Castillon will save my skin."

She was right. Or probably, there was no way of knowing whether Castillon would actually stop trying to kill her. And there was no way of knowing that the Qunari would give up on cleansing Kirkwall; the Arishok had been very adamant about how terrible the members of Kirkwall society were.

Aveline was going to kill me.

"Fine," I huffed. "We'll get the relic back for you, Isabela. And after that, we'll go talk to the Arishok and pray he doesn't know we just murdered several of his men."

"Hawke, are you sure?" Fenris asked from my side and I shook my head.

"Am I ever?"

She left. I saw her, out of the corner of my eye, run after Wall-Eyed Sam as Fenris, Aveline, and I fought for our lives against mages and Qunari.

I thought, maybe, she had just gone after him. When we exited the Foundry (we didn't loot anyone, hoping that it would look like they had turned on each other), I saw the body of Sam amongst the Qunari corpses. Stuck on a button was a piece of parchment.

_I'm sorry. I couldn't let you take it to the Qunari. I've been waiting for too long to get rid of Castillon; I'm tired of always looking over my shoulder.  
Thank you for all that you have done._

_I really am sorry, Hawke._

_I._

I crumpled the paper up and threw it into the water that ran beside the walkway.

"Where is she?" Aveline asked. Fenris shot her a look and I hunched my shoulders, starting back towards my estate. The Qunari could wait until the next day. I wanted to spend some quality time with Cullen and I would be damned if anything, Qunari, betrayal, or the damn city walls collapsing would keep me from it then.

Neither of my companions followed me home that evening. I imagine that Aveline went home to Donnic and that Fenris went home to his wine.

Before reaching Hightown, I was walking alongside the setting sun. It wasn't quite night yet, though it was quickly approaching a moonless night.

I could hear the heavy, sliding footsteps before I saw the dwarf approach.

"Hawke."

The phrase was manic, not questioning. A statement of proportions that I didn't understand. Suddenly, a sword was drawn. Without thinking, I retrieved my daggers. I made short work of the assassin. He lay dying at my feet and reached out a grubby, calloused hand.

As the light left his clouded eyes, his lips moved. Careful that he wasn't about to come back for a second attack, I leaned closer.

"...wke's...bloo..ddd..."

I furrowed my eyebrows and made to ask him to repeat himself but he was gone. Frowning deeply, I sheathed my daggers and stood.

Shaking off an eerie feeling, I looked to the darkening sky for half a second before I started again for my estate and the man that waited there.


	16. Qun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is violence.

It was a tense few days after Isabela ran off with the Qunari relic. Fenris and Aveline were both angry with me for trusting the fellow rogue, Cullen had been called back to duty (he had been given a few days off but with the Qunari stirrings, he had been asked to return), Merrill and I still weren't talking, and all I had to do was think about the assassin in the street.

"Messere," Bodahn poked his head into the library where I sat with a mug of brandywine untouched and a book in my lap unopened. "The Guard-Captain is here to see you."

I let out a heavy exhale but set my book aside and pulled myself to my feet. Bodahn disappeared and was replaced by Aveline, one hand clasping a gauntleted wrist in front of her.

"Hawke."

"Aveline?"

"You said..."

"I assumed you wouldn't want my help," I ran a hand back through my hair before groping for a thong to tie it up with from the table upon which my brandywine sat. I tied it up and away as I moved up the stairs and passed the redhead. "Let me put on my armor, it'll only take a minute."

"Hawke?" Aveline's voice was questioning, not commanding. I stopped at the foot of the stairs that led to the floor that held my bedroom. Hand on the rail, I turned to look at her.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

I watched her for a moment and offered a small smile, "Me too, Aveline."

I was dressed shortly and joined Aveline in front of the fireplace. She stood with a hand on the hearth and stood as I approached, looking at me somberly.

"Are you ready?"

"Hardly. I can't imagine this is going to be pretty. Do you think we could bring Fenris? I like having him around when I deal with the Arishok."

Aveline shook her head, "No, the Arishok will only see the two of us and four guards. I wrote him requesting an audience and that is what he responded with."

I frowned deeply and slid my helmet beneath my arm, making for the entrance to my estate. "Well, let's get this over as painlessly as possible, shall we?"

Once we arrived, the Arishok asked after Isabela. If I had learned anything from my dealings with him, it was best to be honest. So I was. I had assumed correctly.

Aveline pressed on, to which the Qunari responded that the elves had submitted to the Qun. The Arishok was adamant that they would be protected by the Qunari and with a cryptic comment on my honesty and goodness, he brought them forth.

Two very small elven men approached and told the story of their sister, forced upon by a city guard.

I turned angrily to Aveline. "Is this true?"

"There have been rumors. I will investigate."

"Perhaps you should have before you arrested these elves."

"It doesn't excuse the murder."

"You think I would have done differently if it had been Bethany? At least they tried to go to the Guard. You know that if it was the other way around, humans instead of elves..." I shook my head, furious.

"Hawke, you aren't helping."

I opened my mouth to say something but the Arishok beat me to it.

"Their actions are merely the symptoms, your society... I cannot leave without the relic but I cannot stay and ignore the disease that your people are."

My eyes widened and I opened my mouth but Aveline spoke first. "Arishok, there is no need-"

He silenced her without words. He turned away from us and said something in his native language, lifting a hand.

Aveline and I shared a look. Withdrawing our weapons, we watched helplessly as several Qunari struck down two of the guardmembers that we had brought with us. It was a brief fight and I am not ashamed to say that, after taking down two Qunari, we ran as soon as we were able.

Once we were safely away from the compound, Aveline sent her guards back to the barracks to rally the troops. As we made our way to the Hanged Man, where at least Varric would most certainly be, Aveline stopped me.

"Can you hear that?"

I nodded and kept walking. "Even more reason to keep going."

"What can he hope to accomplish?"

"Destruction. Death. Overtaking the city. Nothing good, not for us anyway. I need to find Fenris, he might be able to do us some good. Go and find who you can, I'll send Bodahn for Anders through the cellar. See if you can find Sebastian. We'll all head for the Keep. You, Varric, and Merrill should be able to make it, right?"

Aveline stopped me with a hand on my arm, giving me a long look. "I will see you there, Hawke."

And I knew she would.

I was very lucky, assaulted by only a few Qunari in small groups on the way to find Fenris. He was not in his mansion. I cursed him over and over as I made for my estate.

"Bodahn!" I called loudly as I pushed the door open. As I stepped in, I nearly pushed Fenris over.

"Teth a, Hawke!" Fenris spoke, jumping back from me.

"There you are! The Qunari, they're-"

"I know, that's why I'm here."

"Good. I have to send word to-"

"I'm here," Anders spoke, moving into the entryway from near the fireplace.

I turned my eyes to Fenris and thanked him silently. "We best get on; Aveline, Varric, Sebastian, and Merrill are expecting us at the Keep."

After several more battles, we finally drew close. Sequestered out of sight, we searched out our companions. They joined us finally, and with a hand raised to suggest silence, I spoke in a whisper.

"It looks like they're rounding everyone up in the Keep. Fenris, what do you think they're about?"

"Taking over. What the Arishok said to you...they will try to convert those that will submit, otherwise..."

I frowned deeply and withdrew my weapons. "We can't have that, now can we? I'll go up behind the big one-"

"They're all big," Varric snorted and I offered him a small smile, trying to keep down any laughter.

"...the one with the sword. Wait until I've attacked. Varric, I want you to rain down as many arrows as you can. Sebastian, take out as many as you can but by the Maker, stay back. Anders, stay back for healing but feel free to join in if you can spare it. Merrill, try to keep as many of them immobile as you can. Fenris, Aveline – you know what to do."

And so we fought.

And fought.

And fought.

Unfortunately, the Keep only had one viable entrance and somehow the Qunari had that figured out.

We pushed our way through the Keep and found ourselves in what I had previously deemed "The Throne Room". As we forced open the doors, I heard, "...will make you see."

In the room before us was the nobility of Kirkwall and on the floor at my feet was the head of the Viscount. Something like thirty Qunari were scattered around us and I clenched my jaw. I was tired. We all were.

"But we have guests!" The Arishok pronounced, walking down a few steps. "I was expecting you." He continued in the language of the Qun and Fenris murmured, "...well, at least you have his respect."

"Thank...you?" I murmured, unsure of whether or not I really wanted to sheath my weapons. The Arishok did and, with a little nudging from Fenris, I did the same.

"So tell me Hawke – you know I cannot return to Par Vollen without the Tome of Koslun. How would you see this conflict resolved without it?"

As if on cue, another Qunari was dropped behind us, dead. Behind the fallen warrior stood none other than the lying, cheating -

"Isabela?"

"You were expecting the Divine?"

Under her arm was nestled a very large book which, upon approaching myself and the Arishok, she handed it over.

"The Tome of Koslun?"

"Perfect," I began, smiling a little. "Problem solved. Let's all go home."

"Very well." He turned and handed the book to one of his men before motioning to another. "We will be leaving...with the thief."

"What?" Isabela and I spoke at the same time.

"She stole the Tome of Koslun."

I nodded, "Yes, and she returned it."

"So you believe she should go unpunished?"

"Trust me, I have a few things in mind," Aveline spoke from behind us.

"She will submit to the Qun."

Again, my jaw clenched. I couldn't look very intimidating to him, but I did as best as I could. I shook my head.

"You have your relic, Arishok. She will stay with us."

The Arishok's eyes were steely as he kept his gaze aligned with mine. He made a noise deep in his throat before he withdrew his sword.

"Then you leave me no choice, Hawke. I challenge you. We will battle to the death for the thief."

"If anyone is going to fight for me, it's going to be me," Isabela took a step forward and I put my arm out to keep her back.

"You are unworthy," the Arishok insisted and I could tell Isabela was biting back a comment as she moved back to stand with the others.

"Your men will leave then, with the relic, and leave Isabela here?"

The Arishok looked as though he might be smiling. "If you are to best me, then yes."

"Then let us fight."

The nobility was pushed to the edges of the room and as I took down a strengthening potion, Fenris came to stand beside me.

"Na via lerno victoria. 'Only the living know victory.' Fight well." His hand clasped my shoulder and I nodded at him before I backed away and joined the Arishok in the middle of the field.

I will admit, I was quite concerned as I sized him up. Perhaps three of me at least in size, he dual-wielded a hammer and a sword. For all of his strength, though, I knew I was faster. I was not just fighting for my life, but for Isabela's. And Kirkwall.

He rushed me as I stood in front of a pillar. My timing had to be impeccable and I was so lucky as to sidestep him in time so that he might not avoid crashing into it. The stone cracked with the force of him. I had no time to think on what that might have done if I had been less timely. Jumping on his back, I tore a dagger through his shoulder and he roared. Turning about, he made to pin me to the broken pillar. I did not have the time nor the room to remove myself from his person. I heard a crack and knew that it was not from the stone behind me. He pulled up in an attempt to slam me back again, though I was fortunate enough to have the room to rear my arm back and knock him over the head, hard. He dropped to his knees and I dodged away from him. I gritted my teeth and swallowed hard.

Reaching to my belt, I grabbed a smoke bomb and threw it at the Arishok. It would not give me much time, but it would give me enough. I disappeared behind the opposite pillar as he coughed in the cloud I had created.

"HAWKE!" he roared and I swear the Keep shook. His breathing was heavy and his footsteps louder.

Something was said in the Qunari language and somehow, I knew I had been given away. Twirling from my hiding spot, I took a chance and threw my dagger with all my might.

Wrong side of his chest, but the wound would do me good. Finding the dagger that Cullen had given me for my birthday, I was at an even less advantageous spot than before.

He was cheating.

Well, two could play at that game.

I rolled along the pillar to the other side and tossed out another rogue's flask, one that would cause more than coughing. I had intended only to use my weapons, but with a commentator on the sidelines there were no holds barred.

"Cheating does not become you, Arishok," I found the shadows and kept to them, moving behind him. I was familiar enough with the weapons in my arsenal to know that I had to hold my breath. I kicked out his knee and his leg buckled He tried to spin on me and, in the fray, caught me with his sword in the side. I gasped without thinking and drew in enough of the smog I had created to begin coughing as he had. My eyes watered and it was all I could do to escape before he had his hand on my throat. I retreated behind the broken pillar again.

He was still down, still coughing. I took in deep gulps of air and let out deeper ones, trying to keep my coughing to a minimum so that he wouldn't know exactly where I was.

"Anaan esaam Qun!" the Arishok yelled as he got to his feet. He was charging again, but not at me.

He struck the pillar and the stone crumbled once more, nearly collapsing on top of me.

I had one last chance. Moving backwards quickly, I gave myself a wide berth and then took a running start. The Arishok's face contorted in confusion. Certainly I wasn't trying to knock him over with my body weight.

No, indeed not. I leaped into the air and cleared the destroyed pillar, narrowly missing the Arishok's sword as my feet connected with his chest. He fell to the ground as I thrust my birthday present into his chest.

He just would not give up. So caught up was I in making sure that my dagger hit home that I did not move, not even when I heard calls of "Hawke!" from the sidelines. The Arishok lifted his sword and pushed it into my side.

I screamed and swatted his arm away, with one hand, pushing the dagger further in with the other. I imagine that it scratched the floor.

"We will return...one day..." the Arishok breathed as I slid his sword from my side. My companions came to my aid, pulling me from him. I was given a healing drought, but Anders could do nothing in front of so many people.

"We have to get her out of-"

"Is it over?"

I hadn't heard the footsteps. The Knight-Commander and a slew of men stood in the doorway. First Enchanter Orisino stood at her side as well.

I lifted my head and tried to stand on my own, wincing as pain shot through my side. I looked at her, not seeing much of anything. "Yes, Knight-Commander, it is."

A cry went up from one of the nobles, exclaiming that the city had been saved. Soon, the rest of them joined in cheering. It was then that Meredith approached me, a look of only mildly discernible contempt on her features.

"Well done. It appears Kirkwall has a new champion."

I forced a smile. "Well, I had better get to a healer or else you'll be looking for another one."

A templar's armor clanged beside me and offered me my weapons from the hilts. I turned from the Knight-Commander and looked into the faceplate of the helmet.

I knew those eyes. And that breastplate, slightly more adorned than his lessers.

"Thank you, Knight-Captain," I murmured and, trying not to show exactly how much pain I was in, and took my weapons from him. I couldn't lift my arms to put them away, which I am relatively sure Isabela noted and took them from me.

"I'll carry them. They need to be cleaned, anyhow. I owe you that much."

I snorted a little but it hurt to laugh. I could see the concern in Cullen's eyes and I saw his hand hesitate at his side.

"Knight-Commander, do I have your leave to escort the Champion to the Chantry for healing?"

My first thought was relief at the idea of being close to Cullen. My second thought was "Oh, shit! I hope Anders doesn't-" and he didn't. I don't know how, but somehow he managed to keep Justice at bay for the moment.

Again, Meredith looked as though she wished she could finish off what the Arishok had started. However, she nodded curtly. She turned then to her men to direct them to take care of the nobles and the bodies.

"I'll meet you all at the Hanged Man later," I spoke to my companions, leaning into the Knight-Captain as little as possible. "Isabela..." my eyes shifted to the pirate captain.

"Yes, Hawke?"

"You owe me a mug of ale...and some incredibly shiny blades."

"Right-o." She winked at me and the lot of them took off. Cullen put his arm delicately around my middle as I couldn't lift my arm due to a broken rib (or two) high enough to put it over his shoulders.

After we managed to make it down the stairs that seemed to go on forever, we started towards the Chantry. He lifted the faceplate of his helmet and leaned in a little to speak to me.

"You are going to be all right, Marion." It most definitely wasn't a question.

"Of course I am. I can't very well leave you to fend for yourself, can I?" I laughed a little and then grimaced. "Won't the Knight-Commander be upset about this? Or at least curious?"

"You're the Champion now, Marion. She's going to want to keep the Order in your favor because you'll have the peoples'."

"Does that mean that I'll get more of you?" I murmured, trying to keep my voice very low.

"You will have to try to get rid of me," he grinned, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes.

I was nearly dying but I hardly noticed.


	17. Wounds

It was some hours before the healers at the Chantry would let me go. I wished, on some level, that I had been left with Anders. The majority of what the healers offered me were tonics and wraps. I needed healing magic and the damned Order barely let the healers practice.

Sebastian was not in the Chantry to wave me off – I assumed this meant that he had chosen to go to the Hanged Man, probably against his better judgment. He was, perhaps, the companion that I had the least in common with. I held no great love for the religion of the Chantry though I didn't hold him in contempt for his beliefs. Anders and Fenris were both very set in their ways as Sebastian was and none of them ever really seemed to take to the possibility that they were wrong. There was just something so...annoying about Sebastian's childish rebellion that I found it hard to get on with him. I did my best when given the chance, but other than doing him the favor of avenging his family I rarely kept his company.

Cullen led me from the Chantry that night, my hand tucked into his elbow as we walked slowly towards Lowtown.

"Tell me something, Marion."

"It depends on what you want told," I responded playfully, to which he offered a smile.

"Why do you and your friends choose the Hanged Man? There are better drinks in the Hightown taverns."

"And you know from experience, do you?"

"You know as well as I that templar life does not necessarily mean the same thing as cloistered life."

I gave him a look that I imagine offered just how well I knew that and could see the beginnings of blush on his cheeks, his faceplate lifted again. "Yes, I most certainly do. It's something to do with the Merchants' Guild – they own most, if not all, of the Hightown pubs. Varric doesn't much get along with them. Besides, he and Isabela both stay at the Hanged Man and they're the ones that drink the most."

"Are you sure about that? I've seen you put away some ale."

"Aww, you sure know how to make a girl blush," I laughed and winced. Those damn healers.

We made it to the Hanged Man in one piece. I had half-expected it to be subdued, but apparently having the entire city nearly destroyed had the opposite effect. And everyone wanted to buy me a drink.

Isabela presented me with my cleaned and polished daggers after some time, along with the promised mug of ale. When she did so, she clunked down on the bench across from me and looked at me, hard.

"Hawke."

"Yes?"

"It's your fault."

I gave her a curious look over my raised mug. "Most things are. What is it this time?"

"Why I came back. It's your damn influence. I was halfway to Ostwick before I realized I had to turn around."

"What does this mean for you?"

"Castillon isn't going to stop coming after me."

"Well, then he'll have to deal with the Champion of Kirkwall, won't he? If I can take out the Arishok, I'm pretty sure I can handle some Orlesian ass."

Isabela looked like she wanted to cry but she laughed instead and beat her fist on the table once with a grin on her face. "Let 'im come, then."

"You know, I think Aveline missed you. She might help, too – I don't think she knows what to do with herself without you. There's no one to have uncomfortable sexual banter with." Again, we laughed.

It hurt, but in light of everything that had happened, it felt good too.

On the way back to my estate that night, Cullen refused to let me go without him – even when Fenris said he would walk with me, Cullen insisted. Anders made a point to tell me he wanted to see me and, though I thought it was partially to fix what the healers had neglected to I thought it was probably more than that as well. I told him I would come when I could.

Cullen, Fenris, and I made our way to Hightown in near-silence. Well, sort of. I was more than slightly inebriated and kept bouncing back and forth between the two men, leaning on one and then the other. I was all grins and giggles and, despite themselves, the men smiled.

"Hawk. It's a hawk!"

The gravelly voice came from the dark in front of us, followed shortly by the revelation of a small band of what looked like Coterie members. It dawned on me then that they were not talking about the bird, but me.

All six of them had their weapons drawn and in my state I could barely tell that there weren't twelve of them. Cullen and Fenris both readied their weapons, backing me against a wall to keep me as far away as possible.

"Don't do anything stupid, Hawke," Fenris muttered as he lifted his hammer, taking out two of the dwarves in one swing. Cullen fought beside him, probably against his better judgment, and the two of them made quick work out of the assasins.

"I don't know what they're obsession with me is," I spoke, hiccuping after. Breathing heavily, Fenris and Cullen were dragging the bodies out of the general walkway. They stopped when I spoke and both turned to look at me.

"What do you mean?"

"Has this happened before?"

I nodded a little, standing with a wobble. "The night Isabela left? One came after me. I don't remember exactly what he said."

"Have you mentioned it to anyone?" Cullen asked, frowning a little. I don't think he liked that I hadn't told him. I didn't want him to worry.

"No, I thought it was a one off."

"You should talk to Varric," Fenris offered as he and Cullen came to stand beside me again, their weapons put away. We started walking a little more somberly back towards my estate and I nodded.

"His contacts might prove useful."

Cullen gave me a sideways look and I shook my head. So many secrets.

We reached the courtyard that separated where Fenris stayed from where I did, something that Cullen wasn't officially aware of – much like the Guard Captain – and, with a long look and a quick nod, Fenris left us at my front door.

Removing a gauntlet, Cullen reached his hand up and touched my cheek gently. "Are you going to be all right by yourself?"

"Calenhad won't let anything happen to me. You don't need to worry so much."

His hand slid back along my cheek, down my neck, and cradled the back of my head. "Yes I do, Marion. You have an uncanny ability to nearly die."

"Exactly. Nearly. Still here," I smiled up at him but not for long, as he pulled me close with one arm around me to kiss me fiercely. After that first night, when we discovered each other, we rarely were so open in public. It was very late, though, and I doubt that either of us were thinking much on the repercussions of getting caught. All that mattered is that we were both still very much alive.

If he had had the opportunity, I imagine he would have stayed that night. Unfortunately, the Knight-Commander was expecting him to return at some point. He left me on my doorstep that night, drunk and smiling.

For some reason, in my ale-induced wisdom, I thought it was a wonderful idea to go see Anders at that moment.

I often chose to take the long way to see Anders but that night, the cellar seemed like the best idea. Fortunately, I was able to be very sneaky even with enough ale to drown a horse in my body.

The door to his clinic creaked as I pushed it open. He had been drowsing in a decrepit chair in the corner but stirred as I entered.

"Hawke?" He yawned, rubbing his eyes as he stood. "I didn't... I thought you would come tomorrow."

"Why wait?" I half-smiled, taking a step towards him and stumbling only a little.

"Are you drunk?" He gave me a concerned look, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Probably," I snorted, moving closer to him. "It's good, though – if I wasn't I imagine that I'd be in an awful lot of pain. Those healers at the Chantry," I shook my head and made a very childish face.

Anders shook his head and led me to the cot that his patients normally waited on. I stood there for a moment as he turned about, moving through the clinic to collect his staff from beside the chair he had vacated. As he moved away, I struggled to lift my hands to undo my armor.

When he turned about again, his face was contorted with several different emotions. "Hawke, what are you-"

"You can't very well heal me with this accursed thing on. I can't...quite seem..."

He let out a heavy breath and shook his head, coming back to me and leaning his staff against the cot. As his hands lifted to undo the buckles at my side I thought they were shaking. It could have been my vision though. With my breastplate off, I put my hands to my tunic and tugged it from my pants, though lifting it above my head was beyond me.

"Help?" I asked pitifully, my stomach barely visible. Anders swallowed audibly and hesitated a little but eventually did as I asked. He took in a sharp intake of breath, though I don't know if it was due to the botched healing job that had left blood seeping through the bandage around my middle or the fact that I was standing there in pants and a breastband.

Now don't misunderstand me – I had no illusions as to my level of attractiveness but I knew, on some level, that Anders appreciated me somewhere beyond friendship. In my drunken state, this thought was amplified.

"Maker, Marion," he breathed and I could feel his fingers, dreadfully cold and definitely shaking, as they skimmed along the line that the wrap created on my skin. "I didn't realize it was this bad."

"Two ribs," I spoke, blinking at him a little as he continued to stare at the bandaged, reddened on both sides. The first swipe of the Arishok's sword had only caused a slight gash. The stab before he died, however, had nearly run me through. Drinking had probably been a very poor choice.

He shook his head a little and began to remove the bandage. "Are you all right standing? The angle, I won't be able to get at everything if you're lying down."

I nodded a little and sucked in my breath as he exposed my wounds to the air.

"Did they even do anything?" he grumbled, shaking his head as he crumpled the bandage and tossed it onto the cot behind me. He bent at the knees and his face was on level with my stomach, his hands on my hips. His fingers traced around my wounds and then along the dark bruise that covered my not-quite-healed ribs.

He stood slowly and moved around to my side, his body close to mine though he deftly avoided touching his robes to the lesser of my gashes. One of his hands settled gingerly over the bruise and the other mirrored its placement on my back. I saw the blue glow out of the corner of my eye before the pain shot through me. I gritted my teeth rather than screamed and narrowly avoided biting my tongue. I could feel the bones knitting themselves back together.

"Shhh..." Anders comforted from my side, his breath ruffling my hair. "I know, Marion, I'm sorry." His voice was an odd mixture of his own natural voice and that of the Fade spirit, as if Anders was speaking but Justice was echoing him. The pain gave way to a warmth, though his hands were still very cold against my skin. Soon his hands slid down from where they had been healing me and rested lower on my abdomen and back. Anders did not move.

My heartbeat sped up a little, despite myself, and I cleared my throat. As if startled, Anders jerked away from me. "Right. I have to rest just a second, healing bones isn't easy." I nodded slightly and he moved to the table on which he mixed tonics and poultices.

It was a long time before Anders was happy with the work he had done. I was still tender but no longer bleeding and breathing wasn't arduous. I had almost forgotten what it was supposed to feel like, between the hours I had spent with broken ribs and the alcohol in me. My drinking of earlier had worn off to some degree, leaving me slightly fuzzy in the head but mostly just sleepy.

Healed and tired, I was sitting on the cot as Anders replaced the bottles he had brought over to me. I searched out my tunic, deciding I'd take the cellar up again and neglected to put on my armor. I was sorting out which end was up when he came back over. His hands covered mine and he gently lowered the mess of fabric and arms to my lap.

"Marion."

The look in his eyes scared me. Not in a murdering-rampage kind of way. In the if-he-says-what-I-think-he's-going-to-I-won't-know-what-to-do kind of way.

His hands pulled gently at mine. Despite my better judgment, I stood. He tugged the tunic from my hands and dropped it on the cot beside where I had been sitting. He moved and his hands were placed almost exactly where Cullen's had been earlier that night, one arm curved along my hip with his hand pressed into my back and the other tangling itself in my hair.

"Anders, I-"

"Marion. I have seen you nearly die what seems like a thousand times," his eyes were dark, but not with Justice. "I have been fighting with myself for years over this..."

"Anders, I-"

"Marion," he held me a little tighter, bringing his face closer to mine. "I have lain awake every night for years, aching for you. I thought, with Justice, I...He doesn't approve of my obsession with you, he says you're a distraction. To see you with that templar..."

I groaned inwardly. My muscles felt frozen. His face moved closer. "Marion, I-"

"Anders, please..." I frowned, my hands pressing back against his robes.

"I love you, Marion Hawke...Against my better judgment, and despite Justice."

I didn't have much time to think, let alone react, when I found his lips pressed to mine. My eyes opened wide but he held me close.

Cullen.

I jerked back, using my hands against his chest to push us apart.

"Oh, Anders." I was frowning again and I shook my head, ducking out of his grip and gathering up my tunic and my armor. "I'm sorry, Anders." What else was there to say? I threw my tunic haphazardly over my head as I made for the door to the clinic. The mage stood where I left him, staring at where I had been even as I disappeared through the door and made for home.

I slept off the festivities and frustrations, the following morning waking up stiff and sore, to the sun streaming through my window. I laid, hand on Calenhad's head, looking up at canopy that covered my bed.

Hawke. Hawke's blood. Hawke. It's a Hawke.

Rousing myself slowly, I dressed quickly despite the disagreement coming from my muscles. I was in my armor and sheathing my daggers when Calenhad growled from the bed which was followed by a knock at the door.

"Messere? Oh – pardon me, Champion?"

I snorted a little and moved to the door. Calenhad moved lazily from the bed to the floor and padded over to stand beside me. Bodahn stood in the doorway. Anders stood beside him.

I frowned.

"Oh, good morning Bodahn. Hello Anders. You've caught me at a bad time, I was just about to leave-"

Anders face darkened.

"-...to see Varric."

He looked like he hadn't slept at all the night before and I felt badly for a moment. Calenhad sat down on his haunches beside me and gave me The Look.

"You hush," I frowned at my canine companion and stepped between the dwarf and the mage. "I really must be going. I have to catch him before he leaves."

"Hawke-" Anders started, his hand on my shoulder. My initial reaction was a negative one and so, I swallowed it and offered him a queasy smile.

"Anders, I really do have to go." I almost asked him over for dinner but I honestly didn't want to deal with it. "I'll come by later, or tomorrow. I don't know what today holds for me. I will see you soon, though. Don't worry."

"I am," he frowned, his hand dropping to his side. He watched me go, unlike the night before. "Wait, Marion – can I walk with you?"

Again, I groaned but only to myself. I didn't have time to deal with him. Seven people had come after me, outside of the normal capacity, and I wanted to know why.

Swallowing the desire to see Cullen and tell him what had happened (partially out of fear of what he might do to Anders), I took off toward Lowtown at a very quick pace with Anders in tow.

"Marion, we need-"

"-to keep moving," I cut him off, thumbs hooked into the belt around my hips. "This is serious, Anders. I've had..." I frowed. I didn't want to tell him. "...Well, I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you. I've had two attacks. One was a lone dwarf and the other a group of them, like the Coterie. They called me by name. I think – though I could be wrong – that the first one said something about my blood."

Anders had halted and grabbed my arm gently so that I would do the same. I rolled my eyes. I didn't have time for this.

"Marion? When?"

"The lone dwarf was the night Isabela left. The other six were last night, but Cullen and Fenris were there. I just don't know how long I can stay lucky. I thought maybe Varric's contacts might be able to give us some information."

Anders looked as though he might regurgitate whatever he had or hadn't eaten for breakfast. "I wish you would've told me."

"I didn't tell anyone."

His face brightened a little at this. That meant I hadn't told Cullen. "Anyone?"

"No, Anders, I didn't tell anyone. I didn't think it was anything new, it isn't like half of Kirkwall doesn't want me dead."

"So you really aren't avoiding me?"

I laughed a little and pulled out from his grip, starting towards Lowtown again. "Not entirely."

"Marion, you can't-"

"Anders, I can do anything I damn well please."

His footsteps stopped then, and I no longer heard him walking beside me. I made it to the Hanged Man all by myself.

Certainly I felt bad. I didn't enjoy the idea of hurting Anders, but he wasn't about to force me into anything. I loved Cullen. I wouldn't have admitted it then, but part of me thought I could have loved Anders, if things had gone differently. By then, though, I didn't have enough in me to fight for Anders, though – not against Justice. Or Vengeance. Or both. My relationship with Cullen wasn't easy but it was perfect, in its own way. He and I may have had an end in sight from the beginning, but even now I wouldn't give up a second of the time we spent together up for a happier ending.

I shook my head to try and push such thoughts away. I didn't have time for Anders or Cullen in that moment. I found Varric quickly – thankfully not busy and not drinking. He left nearly as fast as I found him and I sat in his rooms, staring into the mirror on the far wall but barely seeing anything.

It was in that moment, as I sat alone in Varric's rooms in the Hanged Man with a sore body, an aching heart, and the realization that I very well should have been dead, that I cried. I cried for the last seven years of my life and for the rest of it as well. I wanted to believe that it would change, that it would get better – that it would be different.

I knew better, though.


	18. Mountains and Magic

When Varric came back, the sun had set. My tears had dried and Isabela had found me. I was glad for it – she always knew how to make me laugh, much like Varric.

"It's the Carta," Varric spoke in a matter-of-fact manner. "They're coming from a hideout in the Vinmark Mountains, but no one can tell me exactly why."

"I can," I snorted, straightening my spine a little. "Me."

"Which is exactly why we're leaving at sunrise," Varric lifted his mug of ale after settling in beside Isabela on the bench across from me. "I've got a location marked out for us."

"Do you think tomorrow is enough preparation?"

"Since when do you prepare, Hawke?"

Maker, that was true.

I left shortly after finishing my ale, realizing that the trip would be long and I still wasn't totally up for it after the battle with the Arishok. Against my better judgment, Varric suggested that we bring Anders. I told him he had to ask him even though I knew it was childish. We asked Isabela to keep an eye on Merrill while we were gone, mostly because Isabela didn't like to go too far inland and I didn't particularly feel like babysitting the mage on the trip. I suggestion Fenris and stopped by his estate on the way to my own.

"Fenris?" I called, stepping gingerly up the stairs and into the room with the fireplace – where Fenris seemed to spend most of his time.

"Here," he responded from the old, overstuffed loveseat that he had pulled in front of the fire. I moved over and leaned against the hearth, looking over at him and he tipped back the bottle of wine in his hand.

"I've heard something about my sister, but I don't know if it's true or not." He relayed the information and I nodded as he spoke. He said he had at least a week or so before, if the information was valid, he would have to act. A day to the mountains, maybe two in them, a day back.

"Fenris, do you think you could spare a few days for me?"

His brow furrowed and he sat up. He didn't gesture to the seat beside him but I took it regardless. I told him about the assassins and the mountains. He nodded once, offered me the wine, and stared into the flames.

We sat in silence for a long while, the only sound the popping and cracking of the wood chorusing with our breathing.

At one moment, Fenris sat back and turned to look at me. Just as quickly, however, he looked away again.

"Hawke." It was an odd sort of sound - something between a question and a statement, but not entirely one or the other.

"Yes?" I looked away from the fireplace and over at the elf that sat beside me. I watched his profile as he watched shadows dance across the floor.

"I have something I need to tell you."

I groaned inwardly. If he said it too, that was it. I was joining the Chantry. Or something.

Tentatively, I spoke: "Yes?"

"You asked me to come with you." I nodded and he continued. "I will. There is little that I wouldn't do for you, I think. Do you remember what you said the first time we met?"

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. Of course Fenris didn't feel that way - it was ridiculous for the thought to strike me to begin with. The way he spoke - his voice and his mannerisms, as he looked over at me, bespoke deep respect.

I smiled - a sincere gesture, not simply amused. "I'm sure I said plenty."

"You said that all I had to do was ask – that you would have helped me get rid of the slavers even if I had been honest."

"Yes, I probably did."

"And do you remember what I said?"

"Something negative, I imagine." I smiled again and he snorted.

"That I didn't believe you, more or less. And Hawke?"

"Hmm?"

"I do now."

"It took you this long?" I laughed and so did he.

I left just a little while later, feeling much lighter. Fortunately, there was no brooding mage waiting for me on my front step. Upon entering my estate, I found a plainclothes templar holding a bouquet of flowers and wearing a smile.

"There you are," Cullen spoke quietly, his arm curving around me as I approached.

"Indeed, here I am," I grinned, resting my head below his chin for a brief moment before I took the flowers from him with an emphatic thank you and made for the kitchen. I excused Orana, Bodahn, and Sandal for the evening (with much consternation on their parts, at least the former two) and, with the flowers in the vase, we retired to my bedroom.

Part of me wanted to tell Cullen about what had happened with Anders as we curled up together on my bed. I felt like I was lying to him, keeping it a secret. Granted, half of my life was a secret from him. Our relationship worked mostly because we ignore the questionable parts of our lives and came together as who we were instead of what we were, though this Anders thing was probably on the list of things that should be shared. I didn't want to leave for the mountains with that hanging over us so, instead I kissed him.

And he didn't stop me.

Because of how early our party was leaving the following morning (after a rejuvenating but hardly restful night) Cullen decided staying wasn't out of the question. Calenhad, the ever-dutiful alarm, licked my foot and I jumped in Cullen's arms before laughing a little. "After all these years it still startles me," I reached my hand down and pet my mabari's head before leaning over and kissing Cullen's face all over.

"Love," I murmured, putting my hand on his chest.

He opened his eyes slowly and simultaneously his lips curled up into a smile. His hand lifted and cupped my cheek. "You be careful, Marion Hawke."

"I usually am." He made a face at me as to suggest that I wasn't.

It was slow going, getting out of bed that morning. Every time I looked over at Cullen, I just wanted to crawl back beneath the sheets and pretend the Carta would disappear. I couldn't take too long, though; if I didn't show up in the Gallows Courtyard before too long, they would probably make their way to my estate. The last thing I needed was a run-in with Anders.

Eventually Cullen, Calenhad, and I made it out onto the streets of Hightown. My hand itched for Cullen's but people were about – we were still very, very careful.

Upon entering the Gallows Courtyard, Cullen was set upon by a templar recruit with dark hair, almost taller than Cullen.

"Knight-Captain, there's been an attack."

"An attack? What do you mean?"

"A dwarf assassin came for the Hawke-" the templar recruit noticed my presence then and she bowed a little. Bowing? Oh right, Champion and whatnot.

"Bethany?" I asked, frowning. "Is she-"

"Don't worry, Champion – there were templars on duty right outside her room, the dwarf didn't even make it into her quarters."

Cullen and I shared a look. He nodded almost imperceptibly and waved off the recruit. He turned back to me and moved closer without touching me. "Don't worry about Bethany, Marion. I'll make sure she's watched over until you return." His hand lifted as though he was going to put it to my cheek but, after hesitating for half a second, he dropped it back to his side. "I would go with you if I could."

"I know, Cullen," I smiled wanly, wishing there weren't so many templars around. "Stay safe."

The look in his eyes betrayed that his "You too, Marion," meant far more than that. Again I was struck with the desire to run away and hide with him. I wondered what the Maker would do to me if I did just that - decided to give up on everything and steal off to Ferelden, assuming it would have us. Or maybe just some far-reaching part of Thedas. I shook my head. There was no use thinking on it, I could never do it anyway.

I moved on from the Courtyard to the designated meeting place. My friends came shortly thereafter and on we went, towards the Vinmark Mountains.

If I was entirely honest, I was surprised that Anders agreed to come. Or that Justice did. There was little time for conversation that first day – without anything to ride, we walked at a full march which no one was really accustomed to. It had been years since I had served in the army under King Cailan and we rarely seemed in such a hurry as to march full-force over rocky terrain. However, I hadn't told them about the attack on Bethany yet.

We made camp eventually at the foot of the mountains, some hours east of where we had come out from Kirkwall. The sun was setting at our backs as we lit a fire and managed to cook up a rabbit that Varric had been so kind to kill for us. I skinned it in silence, a little ways away from the camp we had created. We had one tent as no one had really wanted to carry anything extra and one of us would be on rotation. After all of the traipsing about we had done together over the years, regardless of how poorly Anders and Fenris tended to get on, it was commonplace for us to be in close quarters.

After the rabbit was cooked and the bread torn for sharing, the four of us sat on the ground around our small firepit.

"I'm surprised at you, Hawke," Varric spoke, laughing as he finished a bit of his dinner. "You can cook, too."

"Shhh. It was my best kept secret until now."

"How did you do this?" Fenris asked, staring at the rabbit.

"Magic," I responded with a snort and he glared at the food before he turned his comically irritated gaze on me. "I'll never tell."

Anders was uncharacteristically quiet as we ate and sat around the fire that night. Varric told tales and we were even able to pester one or two of of Fenris. Unfortunately, after the elf told a slave's ghost story about magisters, Anders decided to break his vow of silence.

"So you've never met a worthwhile mage?"

"I didn't say that," Fenris responded with a deep frown, looking across the fire at Anders.

"You treat it as such, though. I have never heard you say a good thing about magic or mages."

"Perhaps you haven't been listening."

"Please, Fenris, Anders," I sighed, lifting a hand. "Let's not do this again. We didn't bring enough ale for me to sit through another one of your debates."

"No debate," the elf shook his head, hands on his knees as he sat up straighter. "I was just about to prove to Anders that he is wrong."

Curious mostly to hear the story, though I knew it couldn't end well, I sighed again and sat back.

"I don't remember anything before I got these tattoos but I do remember the first day returning to Danarius' home. I was on a leash, the length of rope some twenty feet long or so. One of Danarius' guards was on a horse ahead of me and stopped, as he had seen a maid he wished to...court. There was a young child playing in the yard of her family's home. I collapsed in the road not far away from it and she came up to me. She asked if I was all right. In Tevinter, no one speaks to elves – slaves- unless it is to tell them to do something. She was, of course, a mage. A daughter of a magister, in fact. She was young, but she had magic. She healed me. This," Fenris pointed to a thin scar that ran along one of his lyrium-infused tattoos, barely visible until pointed out. "There are not many mages in Tevinter that are born with healing capabilities. It is my understanding that it is not particularly prevalent among most mages anywhere. She was, possibly, six years old. I doubt she lived into her teens or if she did she was much changed. She was too..."

Fenris paused, frowning. "...pleasant to survive as a magister's daughter."

Anders was watching Fenris with a look that was mostly unreadable. He appeared to not believe him or disagree with him, or something along those lines. He refused to acknowledge that our companion could believe so heavily that all Tevinter mages were so very evil.

I shook my head a little, "Perhaps she left."

Fenris snorted but shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps."

"Sometimes you need to be a little more positive, even if it seems foolish. It's difficult to live such a gray life," I started, leaning into a particularly large, if albeit rough, rock behind me and set my hands, fingers entwined, in my lap. The sad was cool beneath me, but not unpleasantly so. "For instance, my father died, my brother died, my mother died, and my sister is locked in a tower where I cannot save her from dwarven assassins. I mean, one might-"

"Sunshine?" Varric frowned, sitting up a little straighter.

"She's fine, though. One of the recruits came to tell Cullen while I was speaking to him in the courtyard. The assassin didn't even make it into her room, thank the Maker. Cullen said he would keep an extra guard on her while I was gone, although he wanted to send one with us. I didn't think it was the best of ideas," I side-eyed Fenris and Anders before looking back into the low fire that remained. "It is of no matter; we will get to the bottom of this and then no more dwarven assassins, right?"

"Hawke?" Fenris gruffed, hauntingly beautiful eyes settled on me.

"Yessssss?" I responded with a huge, cheesy smile. I was playing up the point I had been trying to make, because I was beginning to feel stir-crazy with all of the death, blood, and more death – oh, and the little bit of back and forth with Anders.

"You are incredible," he snorted and, although it sounded derisive, I thought it might've been meant as a compliment.

The entrance to the Vinmark Wasteland, where Varric led us, left something to be desired, that was sure. Especially after the minor onslaught of not-entirely-there dwarves and weird three-horned, giant animal called a bronto. We were ambushed twice, despite our best efforts to avoid it, and eventually found ourselves going down something like a stairway. Varric informed us that he believed it was called the Vinmark Chasm.

"These people weren't very creative, were they?" I laughed a little, to which Varric chuckled. Fenris snorted and either Anders didn't hear me, or he ignored me. Or maybe he just didn't find me funny – fat chance, right?

We spent much time fighting, more time searching, and a little of it all gaping. The location was incredible, if a little frightening – some sort of building was in the distance, although it looked too foreboding to be anything pleasant. After some time looting, we continued on our merry way only to be attacked several more times.

We found a pair of smooth boots, made of silverite, that looked like one single piece of metal and moved like a million of them. They were the most incredibly boots I had ever owned, at least the armored kind, and they were also superbly quiet. I tied the laces to my boots together and wrapped them around a strap on the pack that Varric carried before we moved on.

We made a good haul, and decent time. There was also an incredible amount of fog, which obscured what I imagine was part of the reason why the far building looked so, well, creepy.

When we finally, finally found ourselves back in Kirkwall, my nerves felt raw. I felt like the fog we had seen was encasing my brain even then. My father. Blood magic.

The Chant of Light was true. Well. At least some of it.

And my father. Blood magic. To save my mother and I, one of whom was now dead.

 **Blood magic**.

I couldn't stop thinking about it; his disembodied voice was on loop in my head. I joined my companions for drinks, but spent most of my time staring into space.

My father had practiced blood magic for the Wardens. A magister had been turned, sort of, into a darkspawn. Corypheus, or something. I had given Anders the amulet, partially to get rid of it and partially because he seemed interested. I wanted nothing to do with it. I didn't even want the dagger that I had been given throughout the process. In fact, I wanted to dump everything we'd gotten on our little (loooooong) trip and pretend it never happened.

But if there was one thing I had learned about unfortunate circumstances in my life, it was that they never, ever went away.

Especially when your father practiced the same kind of magic that killed your mother.


	19. Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annnddd...floof.

I had dismissed Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana for the day. I couldn't handle people, even people that were kind and soft-spoken. I locked the front door and sat on the edge of my bed until the sun disappeared over the roof of my home.

I couldn't close my eyes because I would see my brother, my mother, my father. I wished I could plug my ears from the inside to rid myself of my father's voice, pleading to my mother in the Warden Prison through his magical appearances.

I needed noise. I needed something to distract me. The crackling fire wasn't enough.

In search of alcohol, I left my room to explore the kitchens. There were plenty of bottles, as it was my habit to entertain my friends, and I grabbed three. I grabbed a glass, too. Juggling the bottles in my hand, I turned over the blown glass in my hand and examined the bubbles. The handcrafted cup was beautiful but marred, chipped on the top. I told Bodahn it didn't matter, that he didn't need to throw it out. That we could still use it. I had enough money to restock our glassware every month but I didn't need to.

And then, without thinking, I dropped it. I opened my fingers from around the curve and let it slip. It seemed to happen in slow motion. I could have caught it again, I was fast enough. But I didn't want to. Didn't need to.

I watched it shatter, saw the fissures form and break. It landed on the bottom curve, a little sideways. The shock ran through it dully and the sides erupted into a tiny shower on the floor.

Tiptoeing around the mess I had made, I put the bottles of alcohol atop the counter and riffled about. When I came up again, I had a small crate full of glasses upon which I stacked my bottles of booze. I climbed the stairs again and stood over the railing at the top, smashing the head of the bottle rather than opening it and pouring it down my throat without touching the jagged edges to my lips. Every few swallows I would reach down and pick up a glass. After examining it in my hand, I would extend my arm over the railing. Slowly, deliberately I would open my fingers and watch as it disappeared over the side, the sound of it shattering reverberating through the silence of my solitude.

By the end of the three bottles – which, after being emptied, were dropped over the side of the railing as well –I had emptied the entire crate. I had taken to leaning over, watching the glass shatter and to hear it. I had to move down a little after about half the crate, too many shards dulling the noise.

As I stood, leaning with my hips against the railing and staring down at the mess I had made, a knock resounded throughout the house. It was a familiar knock. It could have been business, but I doubted it – I'd just gotten back, he'd want to see me. I knew the tell-tale rapping of knuckles in a sweet little melody that I had grown to love quite some time ago.

"Bodahn?" a voice, familiar as the other sound, called from outside the house. I imagined he had tried the lock.

I waited. He knocked harder.

With a groan, I took the stairs down as fast as I could with three bottles of ale in me an unlatched the door, swinging it open.

"Oh, Mar- wait. Where's Bodahn? Why was your door locked?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I needed to see you."

"And why is that?"

"Can I come in?"

I winced. He could. He'd see it all.

I shrugged and pulled the door open, stepping to the side. Closing it behind him, I locked it again and led him into the main hall where the ground was littered in glass.

"Marion? What in the name of the Maker happened here?"

"I dropped some glasses."

"It reeks of ale."

"I may have had some of that too."

"Are you okay?"

I snorted.

"Marion, what is going on? I missed you. Are you all right?"

"No," I responded, dead-pan as I stared at the glass on the floor. Cullen stood beside me silently, body turned towards mine as I my eyes remained trained on the mess I had made.

"Is it about the dwarves?"

I laughed a little, a scary, crazy sound. "No. Yes. It's everything. I have broken everything."

"They're just glasses, Marion."

"No. You don't understand."

"Then help me understand."

"You can't. You're good, unbroken. You should leave before I ruin you too. It's my family, it must be. Penance for my father." I snorted again, shaking my head. I was smiling but felt no joy. "I never really believed, I don't think. But after everything, what else can it be?"

"Marion, what are you talking about?"

I turned to look at him then, and new I was crying. I wasn't sobbing, I wasn't making noise. I hadn't even realized at first, but I could feel the tears fall onto my chest. He took a step forward and I inhaled sharply. He frowned but stayed where he was. "My father. He was a blood mage. For the Wardens. They needed him to keep this…darkspawn magister caged. He always taught us it was wrong, especially Bethany. But he did it anyway, because they made him. And our family has suffered immeasurably because I wasn't enough. Because I couldn't protect them without him. He gave up a part of his soul to save us and I failed him."

"Oh, Marion," he breathed and, despite the stiffening of my body, he closed the space between us and pulled me to him. "What's happened isn't your fault. You have to know that. Terrible things happen to good people every day. You do so much good in Kirkwall, you have to know that."

"But it isn't enough. It's never enough."

"It's enough for me."

"Until I get you killed, or thrown out of the Order, or something else awful," I frowned, tilting my head down to rest my forehead against his shoulder.

"I'm fine, Marion. Nothing is wrong with me or my life, except the woman I love won't listen to me."

"Can you blame me? The evidence to the contrary is overwhelming."

"What can I do to help you?"

"Forget me," I responded, my words catching on a sob. He had to know I was speaking out of anger, out of fear. He did, without a doubt, as he held me closer.

"Never. Try again."

"Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive, Marion."

"Marry me."

Cullen's arms held tight against me but his gasp of breath let me know I had caught him off guard. It was bizarre, first, for a woman to say such things to a man – moreover, it was not something we had ever even sort of spoken about. It was a foreign concept to the both of us.

"I can't," he said stoically, pulling back a little to look at my face. He wasn't frowning, though. Smiling, just a little. I, however, was definitely frowning.

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't," he responded, pulling back more. He separated himself completely from me and I turned away, folding my arms across my chest and staring into the dying fire in the main fireplace.

"Then you might as well go." I had no idea where this had come from. I was the last person that should get married, definitely should never have children, and bringing Cullen into this life could do him nothing but harm.

"But I haven't done what I came to do, Marion."

"What does it matter now?" Despite myself, I was resolved. This was it. It was killing me, telling him to go. But he was right; he couldn't marry me. I was an awful option.

"Marion," he spoke, not approaching me. In fact, he hadn't moved – or I hadn't heard him. "Turn around."

When I did, he was on one knee. I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, not amused but very confused.

"What are you doing, Cullen?"

"I can't marry you because you have to marry me."

My eyes widened and my hands dropped as he lifted the small wooden dog carving I had seen the first night we had kissed, extending it to me. Caught between his front paws was a ring of battered Silverbark that looked quite like the one I had given him, although was certainly not the same one that shone on his own finger.

"You can't… be serious," I breathed, blinking at him I moved closer. I extended my hand out, as if he was a mirage and the dog would disappear if I touched it.

"I am. I am very, truly serious. Marion Hawke, I want you to be my wife."

I looked from him to the mess on the floor and back to him. And I started to laugh. I feel to the floor in front of him, taking his hands in mine and bringing myself close to him. I laughed and laughed, unsure what was so funny or even what I intended to say when the joviality subsided.

"Do you know what this means, Cullen?"

"Do I assume that means yes?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Yes, yes, yes, a thousand yesses."

"It means plenty, but I'm not sure what you're referring to exactly."

"You have to tell me what the dagger says."

"Is that all?"

"No, not even close."


End file.
